


Curio

by LadyWallace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, BAMF! Sam, BAMF! cas, Captivity, Cas in a cage, Cas is put into a Supernatural collection, Castiel Whump, Castiel's wings are made physical, Dehumanization, Gen, Kidnapped Castiel, Season 5 AUs, Slash Free, Worried Winchesters, Zachariah is a manipulative asshole, angel headcanons, bamf! Dean, creepy collections/collectors, creepy villians, dark themes, demon blood Sam (but only briefly), not all the angels are dicks but some of them are, sam and dean to the rescue, the baddie is completely insane, underground supernatural auctions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11752467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: When dead angels show up with their wings cut off, Cas and the Winchesters set out to investigate who’s responsible. But while hunting Cas disappears and finds himself in the possession of an eccentric collector, leaving Sam and Dean to track him down before he too ends up like the others. Set S5 No Slash





	1. Chapter 1

Arundel staggered through the woods. He was free! He couldn't believe he was actually free, but even in his injured state, he was able to overpower the man who had tried to dispose of him. He had no time, he needed to warn the others—Lauriel, she would be next, he needed to find some way to contact her without the others finding out…

"There you are!"

Arundel stopped short, panting, wishing he wasn't so weak, as he faced the man he thought he had escaped from.

"No, please," he tried, backing up, hands held out in front of him, all but defenseless, not even his grace in working order.

"You're done. Don't bother running anymore; it's just prolonging the inevitable," the man snarled, and something flashed in his hand.

Arundel staggered back against a tree, his wounds smarting, as he saw the angel blade. "No, don't!"

The man grabbed his throat and snarled. "Too late, brother." He slammed the blade into Arundel's chest and the angel screamed before his body slumped to the ground.

The man wiped his blade clean on the leaves, and reached down to unlock the collar from around the angel's neck.

Another traitor dead. One closer to his own redemption.

~~~~~~~

"You know, I really wish the fuglies could just take some time off while we have the Apocalypse to sort out. A little common courtesy wouldn't go amiss," Dean grumbled as they trudged through the graveyard with shovels and the equipment for a salt and burn.

"Kind of wishful thinking," Sam commented as he slung his bag down and looked at the gravestone. "Randall Evens."

"Yeah, that's the son of a bitch," Dean said with a sigh and turned to Castiel, handing him his shotgun. "Keep watch, Cas."

The angel took the shotgun, looking a little less wary and disdainful of it now that he had been hunting with them for a while. "It's only to be expected that the coming apocalypse would make the rest of the supernatural world more restless."

"Yeah, well, still," Dean grunted as he grabbed the shovel Sam tossed him.

The Winchester brothers started digging vigorously. This case had really put them through the wringer, there had been a rash of deaths at a local hotel, all creepy and unexplained. Each person had been found strangled with their sheets by the maid service, one every day for an entire week. Turned out the place was haunted by the ghost of a serial killer who was reaching the ten-year anniversary of his death—Randall Evens. According to reports, he fell out a window and died when one of his original victims had fought back. It turns out that he wasn't happy about having hunters on his trail either, because Sam had almost gotten ganked in his sleep, and it was only because of Dean's insomnia that he had been able to hack the bed sheets to ribbons and save his younger brother from the same fate. Of course not before Ted Casper Bundy had left Dean with a concussion and badly bruised shoulder. The bastard had gotten in through the air vents too so their salt lines had been useless.

Needless to say, Dean was really happy to be sending him to hell where he belonged.

"I'm not even going to tease you about your weird obsession with serial killers this time, Sammy, since it helped solve this case for once."

"Dude, it's not an obsession," Sam groaned as he flung a shovel full of dirt behind him. "True crime is an interesting topic, as is criminal psychology. In a way, it's not much different than what we do. Different types of serial killers follow certain patterns, just like werewolves or ghouls or whatever."

"Yeah, and yet you still watch Criminal Minds marathons whenever you get the chance," Dean snorted. He paused in the digging, his head and shoulder still aching dully.

"Dean, perhaps you should keep watch, it must be hard to dig with your injuries," Cas said, noticing him flagging.

"I'm good," he started to say when he caught sight of something flickering behind Sam and shouted. "Sam, down!"

Sam ducked and Cas spun to shoot the spirit in the chest with rock salt. Dean quickly traded the shovel for the shotgun and Cas got to work with Sam.

"Can't you just mojo it?" Dean asked the angel, as he glanced around the graveyard, waiting for Randall's ghost to reappear.

"I might if I had more power," Cas grunted. "As it is I think my inhuman endurance would be more helpful."

"Well, keep at it then."

"Dean, behind you!" Sam shouted.

Dean spun but before he could get a shot off, Randall's ghost had grabbed his shotgun and flung Dean several feet. He landed with a thump, all his breath leaving him, and just barely missed a gravestone that would have given him more than just a concussion.

Randall's ghost came over to him, a sneer on his face, hands outstretched to grab Dean again, but there was a shotgun report and he disappeared revealing Cas behind him. The angel reached down to help Dean up and put the shotgun back into his hands.

"Perhaps I should keep watch, after all," the angel said with a surprising bit of dry humor.

"No, you go use your inhuman endurance, Cas, I got this," Dean huffed. Freaking ghost.

Sam and Cas managed to get to the coffin without any other mishaps. But Randall was getting angrier every time Dean blew him away and this time, when he reappeared, he had a length of rope with him, grabbing Dean from behind and forcing the rope around his neck.

"Guys!" Dean gasped out, staggering to his knees as black spots started to burst over his vision. He had never understood how ghosts could be so strong.

Cas smashed open the coffin and Sam hurriedly poured salt and gasoline over the bones. Dean clawed at the rope as Sam lit a book of matches and threw them into the grave.

A burst of flame and an angry scream and Dean was suddenly able to breathe again, slumping onto his hands and knees and gasping for breath.

Sam was at his side, hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean gasped out. "Peachy."

Sam helped him to his feet and the three of them watched Randall Evans' bones burn then filled the grave back in once they were satisfied they had done their job.

"Well, at least we'll be able to get a good night's sleep without worrying about being strangled in our beds," Dean muttered as he rubbed his throat ruefully, now with bruises matching Sam's.

"I could do with a good night's sleep," Sam said ruefully then turned to Cas. "You're getting to be a pretty good hunter, Cas."

The angel smiled a bit. "I have learned a lot from you two and Bobby. I will admit it is rather satisfying to 'get the bad guy' as you say."

Dean snorted but had to agree with Sam. Cas had been a definite asset on hunts of late. Even if he were still a little awkward when they had to question people and work with the authorities, he was always watching their backs once the fight started. It was nice to have another set of hands. Reminded Dean of when he and Sam used to hunt with their dad. Except Cas was a hell of a lot less temperamental and much easier to work with. The angel had been working with them ever since he had given up in his search for God. Cas had seemed to resign himself to sticking with the Winchesters through the whole thing. Team Free Will. Dean figured they were all going to die bloody anyway, so they might as well stick together.

They made it back to the hotel a little after midnight, their room still pretty trashed from the fight the night before, but they were too tired to care. The maids were not going to be happy with them. Dean groaned as he threw his bag onto the floor. "I call first shower."

Sam shot him a bitchface, but his phone rang, distracting him. Dean figured it was Bobby looking for an update, or checking to see if they were still alive, but Sam frowned, obviously not recognizing the number.

"Hello?"

Dean grabbed his shower kit and clean clothes and was about to head into the bathroom when Sam ended the call and snapped his phone closed.

"Hold on, Dean, we don't get to rest quite yet," he said grimly.

Dean groaned. "Are you kidding me? What now? Please tell me that Randall Evans isn't back from the dead. Again."

"No, I don't think this is him. The sheriff called and said the forest ranger found a body out in the nature preserve on the edge of town. Sheriff told him not to move it in case it was part of our investigation."

"Body dumped in the woods? That's not Randall," Dean agreed ruefully. "Dude, this isn't our investigation, can't we let the locals deal with it?"

"Sheriff seemed to think it was weird," Sam said. "I think we should check it out. You never know, right?"

Dean threw his clothes back down and groaned. "Fine, let's just get this over with so I can sleep sometime this year." He turned to the angel who had been standing by listening with interest. "You coming, Cas?"

"Of course," the angel said and followed the Winchesters out the door.

Sam drove them to the location the sheriff had given them. It was quite a ways outside the town and deep in the forest off of the highway, even past most of the hiking trails. Dean wondered what the odds were of two supernatural crime sprees going on at the same time in the same place and decided that it was just their luck that they would happen to be there just at the right moment.

Of course, saving people and hunting things was their tag line, so he shouldn't complain too much. Truth be told, he would much rather be out there hunting down evil SOBs than trying to escape his destiny and the coming apocalypse.

Red and blue flashing lights heralded the approaching crime scene, and Sam pulled the Impala off the side of the dirt forest road and the three of them got out, glad that the darkness would hide their disheveled appearance.

The sheriff, a tall, fatherly sort of man with greying hair, was waiting for them and nodded grimly as they came up.

"Agents, thought you might like to see this one untouched in case it has any bearing on your serial murders."

"Thanks," Sam said, taking a flashlight out of his pocket and leading the way with the sheriff further into the trees and under the crime scene tape.

Dean saw the body instantly, and his first thought was that there wasn't enough gore for the kind of monster attack that usually went down in the forest. No claw marks or anything like that.

"It was the eyes that I thought were strange," the sheriff said. "Almost looks like they got burned out. Thought it could be some kind of signature."

Dean looked closer and cursed under his breath. He shared a look with Sam and the younger man turned to the sheriff. "Um, Sheriff, could you give us a minute?"

The man looked like he was going to protest, then set his jaw and stepped back toward the tape. "Alright," he said reluctantly.

"What do you think, Cas?" Sam asked the angel quietly. Cas was already crouching next to the body, performing a cursory examination. "Angel kill?"

"Close," Cas said grimly, pulling aside some dead leaves that had gotten stuck to the wound in the man's chest. Dean thought it was odd that the victim was shirtless, only wearing a pair of dark pants, and there was no sign of discarded clothing anywhere around.

Cas revealed a large, triangle shaped hole in the man's chest.

"Angel blade," Dean recognized instantly. "Crap."

"He was an angel," Cas said, searching around the area as if looking for something that wasn't there. "I knew him, Arundel, he was from my garrison."

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam said quietly.

"Something's wrong," the angel said, standing up and taking the flashlight from Dean to cast light on the ground around the body.

"Cas, what are you looking for?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder to see the sheriff and ranger watching them curiously.

"When angels die their wings burn out, you've seen this, correct?" Cas asked.

"Yeah," Dean said cautiously.

"Well, he is certainly dead, where are they?"

Sam and Dean both looked at the ground around their feet. It was true; there were no wing marks or scorch marks of any kind anywhere.

"Maybe the body was moved," Sam said.

"No, not with this much blood," Cas said and crouched back down next to the body. He stared at the dead angel, then leaned closer, frowning.

"What?" Sam asked, crouching down across from him.

"His neck, something was around it," Cas pointed to some raw marks that circled the angel's neck as if something had been resting there for a while.

"What, like a collar?" Dean asked with a frown. "The hell was your friend into, Cas?"

Cas suddenly took the body by the shoulder and rolled it onto its side to reveal its back. Sam and Dean were on the other side of the body so all they saw was Cas' reaction.

"No," he gasped out, his face going white with horror.

"What is it?" Sam asked as he and Dean hurried around the body to see what Cas was seeing.

Dean wasn't sure what he was seeing at first. It just looked like two long wounds between the body's shoulder blades, scabbed over, with some leaves sticking to them. And then he looked closer and realized that the wounds were slightly raised and the leaves were actually feathers.

"Oh god," Sam whispered, swallowing hard.

"Is that…?" Dean didn't know what else to say.

"Someone cut off his wings," Cas whispered in a strangled voice. He looked green and Dean thought that if he were human he probably would have thrown up. Instead the angel shook himself and stood quickly. "We cannot let them see this." He looked over to the sheriff and ranger who seemed to be getting impatient.

"I'll handle it," Sam said and went over to them. "Sheriff, we're going to need to take jurisdiction with this one. Special circumstances."

"Special circumstances?" the sheriff said. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that; it involves an active case," Sam replied with as much authority as he could muster.

As Sam worked to convince the men, Dean crouched down next to Cas.

"Cas, who could have done this?"

Cas shook his head. "It would not be easy. Only an angel would know how to get another to manifest their wings physically and they'd need an angel blade to…to cut them."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked quietly, seeing his friend's distress, sickened himself.

"Arundel was a friend," Cas told him. "This is…this is a terrible way to die, Dean. It's almost as bad as cutting out an angel's grace. Worse. If an angel loses their grace, then they turn human, like Anna did; that at least is something. But losing one's wings—that is like taking away an angel's essence of being. Like if someone were to carve your soul from your body. You would live, but it would only be half of an existence."

Dean swallowed hard. "But why would an angel do this to another?"

"I don't know," Cas whispered. "But heaven is a mess right now. At best, this could just be an angel gone rogue, at worst…"

"What?" Dean asked, urging him to continue.

Cas exhaled slowly. "At worst, it could be a new form of punishment heaven is doling out or…or it's possible Lucifer himself is behind this, looking for followers and doing…this…if they refuse." He turned to the elder Winchester. "Dean, you have to understand, whoever is doing this is not just doing it to kill angels. Not like Uriel was doing previously. This is purposeful cruelty, this is someone sending a message."

"Well, then we'll find the sick bastard who's responsible," Dean assured him, briefly squeezing the angel's shoulder. "And we'll take him down just like all the others."

Sam rejoined them. "I convinced them to let us handle the transportation of the body, but I don't know how long they'll keep their noses out of it. The sheriff might try to call our 'boss'."

"Well, Bobby's on the phones and he'll handle it," Dean said as he stood up and dusted off his knees. "We've got bigger problems."

~~~~~~~

Lauriel held her angel blade at the ready, getting more nervous by the second. She had been told to meet Arundel here, but the longer it took him to show, the more she thought that perhaps that hadn't been the case after all. She hadn't seen him in almost two weeks, and only got vague answers to any questions she asked about him of the others. She had figured he was simply on some mission for one of the higher-ups, but perhaps she had been right all along, and something was wrong. Ever since Castiel had been cast out, their whole garrison was under heavy scrutiny. They'd had to be careful, especially since most of them had been in agreement with Castiel and had been secretly hoping he would be able to find God and everything would be sorted out.

But with Lucifer out of the cage and angels turning on each other, their situation was looking bleaker by the day. Lauriel was beginning to think that perhaps she should just get out of there while she still could.

She startled as the sound of a breaking twig cracked behind her. She spun, blade held ready.

"Ah, Lauriel, it's been a while since we talked. Nice night, isn't is?"

She was confused, a man stood there, with no grace emanating from him, and yet, there was something familiar.

"Who are you?" she asked. And then it struck her. The vessel, she knew that vessel, but it was no longer occupied by the soul of the man who was supposed to be in it. "Tobias?"

He smirked and nodded, striding forward. "Correct."

"We thought you were dead," Lauriel said, feeling more uncomfortable the closer he got even though she could sense that she was, somehow, more powerful than he was. "But you're…human?"

He snarled, his face darkening. "Yes, unfortunately. But I'm working on it. Which is why I'm afraid I have to do this."

Lauriel didn't have a chance to react before he lunged toward her, inside the reach of her blade and clamped something around her throat. Lauriel dropped her blade in shock as the cold metal around her neck sent electric waves through her body and she fell to her knees, feeling her grace bound securely.

"Tobias, why are you doing this?" she demanded.

"Because I have to, dear sister," he said and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a syringe and before she could stop him, he stuck it in her neck.

Lauriel gasped, staggering back to her feet and trying to escape, but she felt the world darkening around her. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped to the ground. The last thing she was aware of was someone lifting her up and then all that was left was blackness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the sheriff and the ranger cleared off, Sam, Dean and Cas wrapped the angel's body in an old drop cloth and loaded it into the Impala. With Cas' consent, they drove a little farther out into the woods and set up a pyre to burn the body. While angels didn't run the risk of having ghosts (at least not that they knew of) a hunter's funeral was an honor they wanted to give someone who had been Cas' friend.

Sam watched the angel as he stood next to the pyre, looking into the flames, his face troubled and solemn. Sam and Dean stood a little bit away, and Sam turned to Dean to speak quietly.

"What should we do about this?" he asked. "You don't think Cas in in danger, do you?"

"I don't know, even he said he hasn't seen anything like this."

"And he's sure it was an angel who did this? Not demons?"

"Even I could tell there was no sulfur on or around the body and you know how much demons reek, especially when they get excited," Dean said and Sam shrugged in agreement. Dean was silent for a few seconds then said. "I'm inclined to believe his theory of it being Lucifer. If only because that would just be our friggin' luck."

Sam felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine at the mention of the devil. He didn't like the idea that Lucifer was in on all this, but he had to agree that it seemed more than likely.

"I mean, think about it," Dean continued. "He's topside and trying to find an army. It would make sense that he would go to seemingly rebellious angels, ones he thinks he can turn and make fall like he did. And then if they refuse, kill them in some horrific way that would deter refusals from others."

"It does make sense in a way, but doesn't it also seem a little…I don't know, petty almost?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucifer is raising the Horsemen, Dean, they have way more fire power than a few fallen angels. I mean, look at Cas, he's been ailing since he fell, he's cut off from heaven, they wouldn't even be as powerful as Lucifer's top demons if he was just looking for soldiers."

"He could be looking for inside men," Dean suggested.

"I guess," Sam chewed his lip thoughtfully. "But then why alert other angels that someone is targeting them? There's just something about it that doesn't seem right. I think we need to do some investigating."

"And if it is Lucifer?" Dean asked him quietly, turning to face his brother with a serious expression in his eyes.

"Then we'll deal with that when we get to it," Sam said with a sigh.

Cas turned away from the pyre and walked over to them. "You two should go back to your room and get some sleep," he said quietly. "I can stay here and put the fire out."

Sam and Dean shared a look. "I don't know if it's a good idea we leave you out here, Cas," Sam said honestly.

The angel sighed. "I'll be fine, Sam. What I do know is that we have a lot of work to do, and you should rest while you can. That is, if you will help me on this."

"Of course," Dean told him. "You've been helping us for the past couple months, it's only fair. Besides, this has got to have some bearing on the apocalypse too, right? That involves all of us. But it's no trouble that we stay."

Cas gave them a small, sad smile. "I appreciate it, but I would rather like to be alone for a while. I will see you in the morning."

He turned back to the pyre, and Sam and Dean eventually trudged back toward the car. They wearily drove back into town and by the time they had gotten to their hotel room, they were too tired even to shower, and fell asleep in their dirty and smoke scented clothes. Even the thought of possibly having to face Lucifer couldn't keep Sam up that night.

~~~~~~~

Castiel stood beside the pyre until it completely burned out. His thoughts were both dark and anxious. Arundel had been a friend, his brother in arms, and one of the few angels he would have thought he could trust, even after he had fallen. He had given Dean the ultimatum, that it might be Lucifer responsible for his murder, but, truthfully, Cas thought it was much closer to Heaven than that.

Ever since there had been suspicions that God was not the one giving the orders in Heaven, there had been turmoil among the angels, maybe there were others like Castiel who didn't want to take orders from angels who meant more harm than good, both to their brothers and sisters and to the humans they were supposed to protect. In truth, the thought of allies among his own brethren was something Castiel had given up on a while ago, but perhaps there was still hope. If only they weren't all taken out by this unknown murderer first.

A chill found its way into his chest and his wings twitched at the thought of what had happened to Arundel. The agony he must have been in when he died, not just physical but the mental anguish of having a part of you ripped away. Even now, Castiel understood the pain, the depression even, of living with half your power as he was now, but he still had his wings. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose those too now after everything.

He frowned then as something occurred. Arundel's wings hadn't been taken at the site where they had found his body. There would have been more blood, more signs of struggle. He had been killed there, definitely, but where had his attacker taken his wings?

Castiel looked back at the pyre, almost burned now and safe to leave in the stillness of the early morning hours. He went back to the site of the body and cast around for clues, anything he could find as to what direction Arundel might have come from.

He crouched at the patch of blood-clotted leaves and then began following a trail, his heightened senses aiding him like a bloodhound. There was a difference to angel blood than human. It was, of course, for the most part human, coming from the vessel the angel occupied, but it had a tint of grace in it as well. If Arundel were still alive and at full power, he would have been able to see the grace in the blood fluoresced as if under a black light, but as it was, he could only follow the trail by sense and the barely detectable glow it gave off—the fading grace of a dead angel.

But there was still a blood trail to follow and he followed it until he came upon the forest ranger road that wound through the trees. Here was where the blood stopped and even though Castiel tried his best, he could find no other indication of it. Arundel must have been dropped here and perhaps was able to escape for a moment, trying to flee into the woods, unless…

Unless he had simply been taken here in a vehicle, and had tried to escape it. If that was the case, then this whole thing got even more confusing and complicated than Castiel had originally thought. He would need the Winchesters help on this.

And perhaps some others' as well.

Right now, though, it was almost dawn, and Castiel went back to the pyre and the smoldering embers and he scattered Arundel's ashes around the ground. It was damp enough from recent rains that he wasn't afraid of forest fires and he left the embers to cool as he flew back to the hotel where the Winchesters were staying.

He appeared in their room and when he saw they were still sleeping, he took up residence on the couch and closed his own eyes. While he didn't sleep, he needed some time of quiet meditation as he thought about what he was going to do.

~~~~~~~

The next morning, when Sam and Dean woke, they decided that it was best they leave for the next town over so they could still be in the vicinity to investigate this new case, but they wouldn't run the risk of running into the sheriff again and having to answer questions they couldn't. While they grabbed a quick breakfast, Castiel related the discoveries he had made the night before.

"That is strange," Dean admitted when Castiel told him his suspicions that Arundel might have been brought out into the woods via car. "I mean, angels don't usually drive."

"Is there any way you could find out for sure?" Castiel asked.

Sam frowned. "I don't know, probably not. There would be too much evidence of other vehicles on the road since it's used by the rangers, and I highly doubt they have surveillance cameras out there."

"Then we have nothing," Castiel said blandly. He had been on enough hunts with the brothers to know a dead end when he saw one.

"Not from that angle, no," Sam admitted. "But that doesn't mean that we can't find out information in other ways."

Castiel mulled this over for a few seconds. "I may have someone I can contact."

"Hold on, like an angel?" Dean asked.

"Yes, someone from my garrison. If they know what Arundel was doing before he was murdered, they may be able to help us with possible suspects."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Cas?" Dean asked cautiously. "You have no idea who's behind this. It might be someone from your garrison and you could unknowingly contact the killer or at least alert him. It could put you in danger too." Castiel narrowed his eyes in determination. "Perhaps, but I cannot sit by and watch more of my friends be slaughtered so horribly. If there's anything I can do to help, I will do it, despite the possible consequences. Would you not do the same in my position, Dean?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something then shut it again. "Yeah, alright. But how do you plan on playing this?"

"I will send a message through angel radio, as you call it, and set up a meeting face to face. That will be safer than risking anyone else hearing the message."

"For the record, I don't like this," Dean said stubbornly.

"There's not really anything else he can do, Dean," Sam admitted. "Besides, we can't risk losing any more angels who might actually be on our side."

Dean sighed, and finally stood up from the table. "I know. I just think we all need to be careful with this one."

"I agree," Castiel said. "And I will be."

They packed up in time for check out and were out of the city and into the next town over before noon. Sam and Cas started working in their new motel room while Dean went to pick up food.

"I thought we should start out by looking for any other strange murders that might fit the MO," Sam explained, tapping out a search on his laptop. "Though if it's too weird some people might just 'forget' to write up certain details. I mean, most people won't know to check for vamp fangs and whatnot, but it's not like they're going to miss wing…stumps." He winced and looked apologetically over the top of his computer at the angel. "Do you think it's odd that the angels would leave a body out where people could find it? I mean, it's not like it was in the middle of the city, but it's a forest that's patrolled pretty regularly and has a lot of hikers."

Castiel frowned, thinking it over. "It is a bit strange that they wouldn't try to cover it up, but the angels, especially the kind who are capable of doing things like this, so rarely think about who sees what they do. Even I will admit to not entirely caring before you and Dean explained about keeping a 'low profile' and the merits of such an action. The killer may not have even considered the fact that it could be potentially dangerous to everyone involved if they were discovered." Dean had mentioned Area 51 before, and from what Castiel knew about that, he didn't think it would be pleasant. Whether or not scientific experimentation and dissection is actually what would happen if angels were caught, he was still a bit skeptical. They were not the fictional extra terrestrials, after all. Everyone knew aliens didn't exist. But angels were still something your average person couldn't explain and in their minds, that made them dangerous. "Of course, with the apocalypse fast approaching, they may not care who sees what they do anyway."

"Okay, so they're not really attempting to hide. That may be good for us in our investigation," Sam said as he looked some more.

Dean brought back hamburgers and while they ate and continued their researching, Castiel sent a quick message to the angel he thought best for the job. Lauriel. She had been a good friend of Arundel and they had all fought together under Anna at one time before the former commander had left Heaven. Even if Castiel couldn't be sure of her loyalty toward him, he was certain Lauriel would never betray Arundel, and if anyone knew what he had been doing, she would.

"So how does this work, you just send out a message and they check the answering machine?" Dean asked.

"Well, it's not quite like that, no," Castiel said, not really knowing how to explain it to the hunter. "Most messages will go directly to the angel in question, and sometimes they will reply, or sometimes they won't. If Lauriel is busy she may not be able to reply to me."

"And no one else can hear them?" Sam asked.

Castiel hesitated. "Usually messages are private, but they might be monitored by a higher-up due to all the turmoil. I made the message short and without any specifics, just a time and place to meet, but…"

"But what?" Dean demanded.

"Well, a message from me at all, no matter the content, could very well put up red flags if anyone is listening. Lauriel might not be the only one to show up."

"Great," Dean grunted. "So what you're saying is that you could be walking into a trap."

"It's a possibility."

"Dammit, Cas," Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like this."

"It doesn't matter whether you like it or not, Dean, I am doing this," Castiel told him firmly. "And you and Sam aren't coming with me."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, looking up as Dean looked at Castiel like he was an idiot.

"Are you kidding me? Of course, we're coming," Dean told him.

Castiel stood so he could be closer to Dean's eye level. "No, you're not. You don't understand. If this is a trap, then the likeliest angel to show up will be Zachariah, and if he gets his hands on the both of you, you won't stand a chance of refusing Michael, Dean. And Sam, you'll just be collateral to get Dean to say yes. You both know Zachariah isn't above torture, and if you labor under the delusion that it couldn't possibly be as bad as what you experienced in hell, you are wrong. I should know." Castiel looked away, his jaw clenching as his nerves smarted for a moment, remembering his 'lessons' at Zachariah's hands when he had disobeyed orders and told the Winchesters too much about the Seals and the Apocalypse.

Dean swallowed hard, casting a glance at Sam before turning back to Cas. "Alright, fine, but you check in every quarter hour, okay?"

Castiel looked at him long-sufferingly but agreed. Dean had been an elder brother for far too long, and Castiel was beginning to see what Sam meant when he called Dean a 'mother hen'.

"When are you meeting her?" Sam asked.

"In about an hour. I still haven't heard back, but I will go to the spot and wait. She may not want to reply to me and risk someone finding out."

"Okay," Dean said. "But if she doesn't show within thirty minutes, do yourself a favor and get out of there. I think that will be answer enough."

Castiel nodded reluctantly. "I believe it will."

When it was time for him to go meet Lauriel, Dean and Sam were still trying to talk him out of going alone, but he wasn't having any of it. He was not about to let the brothers be taken by the angels, not when he had already gone to such lengths to protect them. This was his problem, and he would not drag them into this. Of course, it would only be a waste of breath to say as much out loud; Sam and Dean were notoriously stubborn and voicing his opinion would probably only make them more so.

He left the motel room before they could protest any further and flew to the spot he was to meet Lauriel, at the head of one of the hiking trails in the woods. It was almost time for their meeting, and he held his angel blade at the ready, knowing that it wouldn't do to be caught unawares. There was a higher probability that this was a trap than he had been willing to admit to the Winchesters.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he snatched it up, vaguely annoyed to see that it was Dean.

"What?" he asked tersely.

"Geez, sorry for interrupting your date, Cas, just making sure you're there and not on a one way train to Heaven's very own Alcatraz."

"I'm fine, she's not here yet, but I will keep you updated."

He ended the call before Dean could go on any longer. Sometimes the Winchesters talked too much.

Castiel waited another fifteen minutes before he started to get a bit anxious. He wanted to send Lauriel another message, but knew that she would get to him if she could. And if she couldn't—or wouldn't—well, then it was probably already too late.

Just as he thought that, he heard a rustle in the woods and felt a presence, but not an angelic one. Thinking it was probably just a hiker, he quickly stowed his blade and turned toward the Plexiglas case that held a map of the trails nearby to try and 'blend in'.

"Lauriel couldn't make it."

Castiel whipped around, frowning as a human man stood in front of him. He was tall, about the same height as Castiel, but a little broader, with dark hair and steely grey eyes and a hard jaw. There was something vaguely familiar about his presence but Castiel couldn't place him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand…" he tried and began to step away, reaching for his blade again.

"I think you do, Castiel," the man said, advancing as Castiel retreated. "It's time for you to pay for your crimes."

"Who are you?" he started to ask when the man brought up a hand and threw something into Castiel's face. Dirt he had scooped up from the trail.

Castiel half inhaled the dirt, but the rest went into his eyes, blinding him and making him fall to his knees, eyes watering as he choked. The grip on his blade loosened as he fell.

A booted foot kicked his blade away before he could clasp it more firmly and something cold was wrapped around Castiel's neck and locked in place, sending a jolt of painful energy through his body. He gasped and clutched at the constricting band, dirt-streaked tears streaming from his red eyes as his attacker crouched in front of him and jerked his head up by a fistful of hair. He held something in his hand that Castiel couldn't quite make out with his still blurry vision.

"You may be past redemption, Castiel, but I am not. It's noting personal, brother, but I must prove myself in some way."

Castiel couldn't ask what he meant. Something was jabbed into his neck and a sudden wooziness overcame him. His world was closing in on him and with one last desperate gasp for air that was suddenly not there, his eyes rolled back in his head and he was covered up in darkness.

~~~~~~~

Castiel woke groggily. He was lying on a hard surface, his cheek pressed against something smooth and cold. He groaned, feeling unbelievably heavy and weak. He brought a hand up to his pounding head and closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. He remembered his attempted meet-up with Lauriel and the man who had showed up instead. That was the confusing part. The man—he had been human, and yet he had called Castiel brother…

Castiel's hand went to his throat where he felt heavy, cold metal. It was a collar of some kind, and upon further exploration, he could feel something he assumed to be sigils etched into it. Likely the cause of his weakness. He could feel his grace, but it was locked down tight, rendering him practically human as if he hadn't already been weak enough as it was. His mind went to the image of Arundel's body, of the marks on his neck as if he had been wearing a collar for a prolonged period. Much like the one Castiel had on now. Unease, fear even, tightened in his stomach. It had been a trap and he had somehow managed to get caught unawares. At least Sam and Dean hadn't been with him. It could have been worse.

He looked around, finding himself to be in some nondescript room with a concrete floor. It wasn't a cage but it seemed to have a reinforced door like a prison cell. The only comfort he felt was that he was still on earth. At least he hadn't been pulled back to Heaven for more 're-education'. He groaned again and tried to sit up. That was when he realized that he didn't just feel heavy because of the sigils binding his grace; there was a physical weight on his back that he couldn't place, even though he knew he should be able to in his subconscious. He frowned, trying to maneuver himself into a position to shake off what was on top of him, but it wouldn't budge, and something tickled his side lightly, which caused him to notice for the first time that he had been stripped to the waist.

Then it occurred to him. He shot up into a sitting position, his head aching at the sudden movement and twisted his head as far back as it would go.

And there he saw black glossy feathers, arching up behind him. His breath caught in his throat as he willed the appendages to move, his wings unfurling behind him, a little tattered and singed still from his foray into Hell to rescue Dean, but completely physical.

Fear clutched his guts so violently that he nearly felt sick. He shuffled into the corner of the small room he was stuck in, breathing heavily, his wings pulled tight to his body and his arms wrapping around his updrawn knees.

This could only end badly.

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Dude, it's been thirty freakin' minutes, where the hell is he?"

Dean paced the floor of the motel room as Sam sat at the table still looking for information online, running a hand through his hair. The younger brother was just as worried about Cas as Dean was, but he was trying to channel his worry more productively. Unfortunately, Dean was making that difficult.

"Dean, he's probably talking with his angel friend," he tried half-heartedly.

"He said he would keep us updated and he hasn't. We need to head over to the woods and find him."

"Just try calling him again, Dean," Sam pleaded. "He's right, you know, if we get captured by Zachariah or the other angels out for us, it would only end badly."

"Sam, Cas is like family!" Dean snapped at him. "I don't care if it's our asses on the line or not, you don't leave family like that. You think Cas would get any better treatment from them than we would?"

Sam's stomach turned at the thought, knowing well enough the answer to that. He remembered how Cas had acted after he had been yanked right out of his vessel and brought back to heaven for 're-education'. "I know."

"Look, I want you to stay here, I'll go check it out," Dean said, grabbing his jacket and checking to make sure his gun was fully loaded.

"What? No way," Sam said firmly, finally standing up.

"Sam, they get me, they're not gonna kill me—not permanently anyway, obviously they don't want me dead. And they have no leverage without you, so, please just stay here."

"And Cas isn't leverage?"

"Probably not to their imagination," Dean muttered darkly. "Either way, Sam, it's not going to help for them to have all three of us."

Sam huffed, but knew Dean was probably right. "Fine. I guess it's probably a good idea for someone to stay here in case nothing is wrong and Cas does come back."

"Let me know if he does," Dean said on his way out the door.

"Be careful," Sam called hopelessly as the door slammed behind his brother and he could hear the sound on the Impala's engine rumbling to life in the next few seconds. He pinched the bridge of his nose and went back to researching. So far, he hadn't found anything that sent up red flags on any police reports at all. But that wasn't the only place he could look either.

He pulled out his phone and called Bobby.

"What?" the older hunter answered grouchily. "I thought you boys were coming back, didn't you finish that serial killing ghost case last night?"

"We did," Sam said tiredly. "But we have another one now." He explained about the angel's body they had found the night before and was met with silence on the other end of the line. "What we're trying to find out is whether this is the first body or not. I've looked everywhere on the police and FBI databases and haven't turned up any reports of similar bodies found. But I thought that maybe other hunters had. Do you think you could call around?"

"I'll give it a shot. Not sure half of them even know angels exist."

"Well, they're going to get a wakeup call either way with the apocalypse on their doorstep," Sam said blandly.

"Alright, I'll make some calls, and get back to you later. Make sure your brother and that angel of yours don't do anything stupid." He hung up and Sam stared at the phone wryly, his stomach twisting anxiously.

"I think it's already too late for that," he muttered. Then he tried calling Cas for the tenth time.

~~~~~~~

Castiel wasn't sure how long he had been in the small cell before he heard footsteps outside the door. The drug that had knocked him unconscious must have been powerful because it had not only knocked him flat in only a few seconds, but made him feel woozy and confused for a while, like his head was full of cotton. It wasn't like when he had foolishly 'gone on a bender' and drank a liquor store—it didn't hurt quite as much—but it made it hard to think and had him questioning what was actually real or if he were dreaming.

But it had started to wear off within the last few hours and during that time he had tried to pull his wings back to the ethereal plane but with no luck. He wasn't sure if it were the sigiled collar blocking him from doing so or if they had simply been manifested with some kind of spell that was too powerful for him to reverse. That only heightened his anxiety. Only angels knew how to make another manifest one's wings and even then, only higher angels and medics knew how to do it to another. It was rarely done at all by another angel except for healing purposes.

When he heard the footsteps, he did his best to get to his feet, pressing his back with his wings furled tightly against him into the corner. If they planned to take his wings, they were going to get a fight and he wasn't going to go down easy, even if they decided to drug him again.

There was the sound of a lock in the door and two men entered, both dressed in black uniforms that made them look like footmen or bellhops but without the hats. Castiel was even more confused when instead of just grabbing him, one of the men stepped forward and nodded slightly. "Your presence has been requested by Mr. Cartwright."

Castiel frowned. He didn't know anyone by that name. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I promise no harm will come to you if you don't refuse," the man said, taking a step forward and holding out an empty hand as if to visualize his statement. Castiel was vaguely offended. He was not some wild animal.

When the man got even closer, Castiel took a chance and surged forward, slamming him into the wall and making for the door where the other man stood, planning to take this one out as well.

He didn't get past the doorway though before he felt something hot stabbed into his side and his entire body seized as he collapsed to the ground, ears ringing and nerves twitching with leftover pain.

He felt hands pulling his arms together and something cold snapped around his wrists. He groaned and blinked blearily upward to see the guard he had thrown into the wall hovering over him, hair and clothes slightly mussed but otherwise unharmed. The other man stood over him holding a metal rod, which must have been what he used to put Castiel on the floor.

"These are just a precaution," the first guard told him as he was pulled up from the floor between the two men. Castiel looked down and saw that his hands had been manacled in front of him, though they seemed to be just regular cuffs. The collar around his neck rendered him no stronger than a human. Of course they were just a precaution, like the metal stick that shot lightning through his veins. Castiel wasn't stupid. No matter how accommodating his guards might be, he knew he was a prisoner and would likely end up just like Arundel sooner rather than later.

He was led down a hall and up a flight of stairs, presumably out of the basement of the building he was in. And once up to ground level, he blinked as the guards brought him out of the door to the main house. It was incredibly ornate, even the hallway they walked down first was richly furnished with paintings that looked original and tables with artifacts that belonged in a museum. Castiel only grew more confused as he was led into a beautifully furnished sitting room decorated in Baroque style, the furniture looking like it had come right out of the 1700s. Several chairs and couches with intricately carved woodwork, a bar service with crystal decanters set to one side with a pianoforte were the main furnishings, but there was also a wall with several bookshelves, all occupied by leather bound originals.

Another door to one side opened and Castiel braced himself to see this mysterious Mr. Cartwright, but instead it was a young woman, dressed in a simple dress and apron carrying a tray with a tea service on it. She glanced up at the guards and Castiel and nodded. "Mr. Cartwright will be in shortly." Then she exited.

As if on cue, the door Castiel had been brought in through opened and a man stepped inside, smiling when he saw the angel.

"Ah, it's wonderful to finally meet you, Castiel. I'm Edgar Cartwright."

~~~~~~~

Dean parked the Impala in the dirt lot at the hiking trailhead. A cursory examination showed only a couple other cars parked there, that obviously belonged to hikers with their granola munching, 'go green' type bumper stickers that made Dean crave red meat. He didn't see Cas anywhere but figured he might have gone further into the woods to talk in private if people had showed up. That is, if he were even still around and hadn't been kidnapped.

"Cas!" He tried calling, wondering if the angel was within hearing distance. He walked over to the start of the trail where a large Plexiglas box held a trail map and some pictures of the exciting local flora and fauna you could look forward to seeing. Dean rolled his eyes. If they didn't have possibly homicidal angel on there, he wasn't interested. He tried calling for his friend again. "Cas, hey, if you can hear me, give a holler!"

Nothing. Anxiety building in his chest, Dean pulled out his cell phone again and dialed Cas' number, hoping that he might be considerate enough to pick up this time, or at least annoyed that Dean wouldn't stop calling.

He heard the ringing in the phone and then was startled to hear a louder ring down next to his feet.

"Oh, no, no, no," Dean muttered as he crouched and started scrambling through the grass below the sign, uncovering a phone that was lit up with his number on it. He quickly ended the call and squeezed his hand around Cas' phone. "Dammit, Cas," he cursed. He quickly looked around the area for clues but didn't find anything. Then, sick to his stomach, he looked further in the woods. He really didn't want to picture Cas lying somewhere out there in the same state as that other angel, but he couldn't deny it was a possibility either.

He didn't really think whoever was doing this would simply kill Cas that quickly. Especially if Zachariah had his hand in it. Dean hated the idea of Cas being tortured by that douchebag, but if it would keep him alive long enough for them to find him, then as messed up as it sounded, it was the lesser of two evil possibilities. Especially since the other involved Cas' wings being cut off.

His phone rang and he flipped it open. "Sam?"

"Yeah, where are you?"

Dean sighed. "At the meeting spot, Cas is gone, Sammy. I found his phone at the trailhead. I don't think we should assume he just dropped it."

"Dammit," Sam cursed. "Okay well, get back here in case whoever did it is still out there. I called Bobby and he's asking around to see if any other hunters found similar bodies. We need to regroup and think this over."

"I don't think Cas has time for us to think this over," Dean growled. "We have no idea how long that other angel stayed alive before he was butchered. Cas could have days or hours, and without any other corpses to reference, we can't even pin point a location."

"Okay, Dean, try to calm down, we'll find him, I promise," Sam pleaded. "Let's just not do anything stupid in the meantime. Cas needs us, we're the only hope he has of getting out of this alive, and we can't afford to get ourselves into trouble."

Dean took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll meet you back at the motel. We are gonna nail this son of a bitch, Sammy."

"I know we will," Sam said and hung up.

Dean cast one more glance around the trees. "Where the hell are you, Cas?"

~~~~~~~

Castiel took in the man who was Edgar Cartwright. Upon initial inspection he did not look entirely menacing. He was tall, and thin, probably in his early fifties, with receding sandy hair and round wire-rim glasses. He was dressed in grey trousers and waistcoat, over which he wore an old fashioned red smoking jacket. Altogether, he was rather unassuming—an eccentric, rich man with scholarly tastes.

But as Castiel studied him more closely, he saw an underlying insanity behind the man's pale blue eyes. His formal speech, his precise movements, not to mention his house, told of a man who liked things just so, and would probably not tolerate it if they were not. A man who was prone to obsession and because of that, dangerous.

However, Castiel still hadn't figured out how Cartwright fit into the equation.

"You may go," Cartwright said to the guards who still held Castiel between them.

"Sir, he tried to attack when we got him from the basement. Perhaps it's best we stay."

"Nonsense, Harold," Cartwright waved his hand dismissively, voice leaving no room for argument. "Castiel and I are just going to sit and talk. He will not attack me, will you, Castiel?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man, still not sure how he knew his name. He certainly wouldn't make any promises, but…if Cartwright was only going to talk to him, then perhaps it was better he listen, try to figure out where this strange man fit into their investigation. And as long as he didn't try to harm Castiel, he would have no reason to hurt the man. He shook his head slowly.

"There, see?" Cartwright said with a small smile. "Take off the cuffs and go see to your duties."

The guards reluctantly freed Castiel of the handcuffs and reluctantly left the room, closing the door behind them.

"They mean well," Cartwright told him as his eyes traveled to Castiel's side where a bright red burn mark showed where the metal rod had been shoved against his skin. The man gave a look of distaste. "I apologize that Simpson used the cattle prod on you. He is a bit overly cautious. Some of our previous guests haven't been as docile."

Castiel grunted. It was little wonder if these 'previous guests' had been taken in the manner he had.

Cartwright motioned to the couch. "Please, have a seat."

Castiel was about to protest that he would rather stand, but decided that it might be best for the man to think he was compliant. It might help to keep security lax. He carefully sat down on the embroidered cushions, maneuvering his wings a bit awkwardly so he wouldn't sit on the feathers and crush them. He was not used to having them corporeal. Not while wearing a vessel.

Cartwright turned to the tea service and poured some of the steaming liquid into a delicate china cup. "Tea?" he offered to Castiel.

"I prefer coffee," Cas replied stiffly, wary of taking anything from this man in fear it might contain drugs.

This only seemed to amuse Cartwright as he plopped a sugar cube into his cup and stirred delicately. "How curious you are. You're not like the others, are you, Castiel? You're a different sort of angel."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, not sure what to reply to that. This man confused him and made him feel very wary. Decades of warrior instinct had trained him to spot a bad situation and this didn't feel good to him. He knew this man was dangerous, and yet there was no way to prove it just by looking at him.

"You can relax, Castiel, I mean you no harm. I take very good care of my acquisitions."

That word made Castiel's stomach twist with unease. He was not an acquisition; he would rather be a prisoner. What was this man's game?

"I don't understand," he said tersely.

"Forgive me," Cartwright said and set his cup aside. "I'm a collector of rare and valuable items. Especially of a mythical or occult nature. I am incredibly fond of my curios." He smiled wistfully, a contentment settling over his features that for reasons unexplained, made Castiel's skin crawl.

"Now," Cartwright was suddenly on his feet, taking two steps toward the angel. "I want to see your wings. May I look at them?"

"No," Castiel said quickly, folding his wings in tighter and narrowing his gaze at the man who was watching him with eager eyes.

A little light went out of those eyes at the refusal. "Do not make me force you, Castiel."

Unease spread through Castiel's chest, and disgusted at himself, he stood slowly and let his wings open at half-mast. Cartwright's eyes lit for a second before he began to study them.

"Oh my, they are not exactly in pristine condition, are they?" he muttered regrettably to himself as he walked around Castiel to inspect the appendages closely. "No, the other ones were much nicer looking than these. A shame too, such a beautiful raven black."

Castiel bristled at the comments. No, his wings were not pristine. How could they be when he had flown through Hell to rescue Dean?

"What happened to your beautiful wings? They look singed." Fingers touched the battered primaries and Castiel jerked away, spinning around to face the man.

"Don't touch me," he said.

Cartwright's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. Pale blue turning to ice as his mouth thinned into a firm line. He quickly pulled something from his pocket and jabbed it below Castiel's ribs, giving him the same shock that the cattle prod had. Cas let out a yelp and collapsed to his knees, fingers digging into the Persian rug under him.

When his senses were no longer discombobulated, he felt Cartwright's hand gripping the back of his neck, below the collar, thin fingers digging into his flesh as he bent and spoke in a hiss. "You belong to me, Castiel. You will not refuse anything I ask or you will pay the consequences. I bought you. You are nothing but one of my collection now. A curio."

Castiel shuddered, and it wasn't just from the electricity still flickering through him. He suffered Cartwright to inspect his wings, disgusted at himself, but again, if he could convince him that he was willing to be compliant then maybe he would have a better chance of escape.

Once Cartwright had finished, he tugged at Castiel's collar and motioned for him to stand, all manners and good humor again. "Come, Castiel, I want to show you my hall of curios."

He followed silently behind the man as Cartwright crossed the room to the door and led Castiel back out into the hall he had seen earlier. The two uniformed men were waiting—Castiel wasn't entirely sure whether to call them servants or guards for they acted like both. They didn't take hold of him again, but walked several paces behind Castiel, likely making sure he didn't attack their boss. Castiel looked at the paintings on the walls as they passed. All of them were on the subject of mythology or other such things. Cartwright began talking as he went, motioning to them.

"I have been fascinated by mythology and folklore since I was a child. There are not many people who truly believe in it anymore, but if you look hard enough and in the right places, you can find the proof. I spent my younger years studying abroad and collecting, always collecting. So many fascinating things that no one had ever seen before." They had reached a pair of tall double doors at the end of the hallway now and Cartwright turned to Castiel with a smile. "I do hope you like my collection, Castiel."

He pushed through the doors and Castiel followed cautiously, not entirely sure what he would find. When he stepped through the doorway though, he looked around, actually staggered at what the room held.

Firstly, it looked like an exhibit hall from a museum. Everything was kept in glass cases on raised platforms, and there was certainly a plethora of things.

"This is my hall of artifacts," Cartwright told him, his eyes lighting with excitement, that mania that Castiel had noted earlier coming to full light. "Most of these treasures came from my travels in Europe, the Middle East, Asia…some I bought from other collectors, but most are things I came across myself."

This wasn't some fake occult collection either. Castiel saw that right away. Some of the items here had actual powerful properties. There were many displays of weapons. He wasn't sure what all of them were by name, but he could feel that many of them were powerful and ancient.

"You'll recognize these," Cartwright told him, motioning to a case that held a collection of angel blades. Castiel swallowed hard. There were five there. Did that mean five victims? Or were some of these somehow collected by other means? "I hope you don't mind that I added yours to the collection."

Castiel did mind. Quite a bit; but he bit back his scathing reply. The guards were hovering directly behind him, and he would rather not feel another taste of the cattle prod if he could help it.

"But as wonderful as these all are," Cartwright said, leading Castiel to an open doorway that led to a second room. "My true curios are in my natural history gallery."

Castiel entered the next room cautiously and stared in horror at what he beheld.

The room itself was huge, three times the size of the first at least, and the tall ceiling held a spectacular bubbled skylight almost like an old fashioned observatory. The middle of the room was open as if to provide enough room for gatherings, but along the walls where Cartwright's 'curios' resided, Castiel couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

First there were long glassed in displays with various bones and horns and teeth of mythical creatures. Bones of a dragon, horns of a Minotaur, a griffin skull, among other things. Then there were the more macabre displays. Next to those, small plaques of dead fairies pinned up like butterflies and jars of formaldehyde with small creatures floating in them. He swallowed hard, ill at the sight.

But that wasn't the worst thing that the room held either. As they went further along, Castiel saw larger displays, cages, and realized with horror that they were occupied.

The first one housed a female djinn, closed in with ornate glass. The interior was made to look like it had an Indian motif, and the djinn was dressed in a sari, huddled on a pile of tasseled silk pillows. Castiel stared at her and she looked back briefly with wide, frightened eyes before she withdrew into herself, wrapping her thin, tattooed arms around her body.

The next was a female vampire, but she had been dressed in a gothic Victorian outfit, her enclosure all dark red velvet like a sitting room from the turn of the century. She pressed her hands to the glass when she saw Castiel, a desperate look in her eyes and he almost went over to her but was stopped by one of the guards pulling on his arm.

"You keep them like animals," Castiel breathed, anger boiling up in him at he turned to Cartwright. Of course, these were the creatures he hunted with Sam and Dean, but they still deserved some links to humanity. The vampire at least had been human once after all.

"They are animals," Cartwright said dismissively as if Castiel was stupid. "As are you. They are well taken care of as will you be. I take great pride in my collection as you can see."

"What?" Castiel started to ask when Cartwright led him across the room to another display.

The first thing that caught his attention however was the case on the wall behind it. This case was large, and inside, pinned up and spread out in their full glory were a pair of angel's wings.

"No," Castiel cried out, recognizing the mottled hawk-like pattern that had belonged to Arundel. His knees gave out and he couldn't help the tears that slid down his face at the horror.

"His wings were in much better condition than yours," Cartwright said as he gazed at them with pleasure, ignoring Castiel's distress as if he didn't care. "They would fetch a pretty price but I had to keep them for myself. So beautiful."

Castiel was about to attack the man without care for the guards behind him, when he spotted another exhibit and a pitiful figure huddled in a corner.

He staggered to his feet and ran to the enclosure. This one was a cage instead of being glassed in and he grabbed the bars in trembling hands. "Lauriel?" he called.

The figure's head came up in surprise, a flare of hope soon replaced with despair flashed across her features.

"Castiel?"

"Ah, so you know your roommate," Cartwright said. "That's good." He nodded to the guards who stepped toward the cage and unlocked a door in the side.

"Castiel, run!" Lauriel shouted.

Castiel didn't want to leave his friend there, but yet, she would have a much better change if he could get out of here and get back to the Winchesters so they could help him get this collar off. He spun around, but only made it three steps before he was jabbed in the lower back with the cattle prod and collapsed with a pained yelp. They kept it pressed against his skin for longer this time, and he was completely limp by the time they took it away, feeling utterly helpless as they dragged him up and shoved him into the cage. Castiel rolled onto his side and forced his eyes open as he heard chains rattling and tried to fight as one of the men clipped a length of chain to his collar to keep him from leaving the cage.

"Perfect, perfect," Cartwright was mumbling to himself and when Castiel glanced up at him, he saw a gleeful light in the man's eyes that chilled him to the bone. He forced himself to his knees, gripping the bars of the cage but there was nothing he could do now. He was trapped and virtually helpless.

"Ah, my beautiful curios," Cartwright practically crooned as he turned and walked out of the room with the two guards.

Castiel watched him go with a feeling of dread settling over his entire being. He was trapped by a madman and there didn't seem to be an escape in sight.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Castiel? Are you okay?"

Castiel turned his attention from the door Edgar Cartwright had disappeared through back to Lauriel. She didn't look nearly as disheveled as he felt, though that may have been because her wings, white and elegantly narrow, were not tattered as his were, untouched by the fires of Hell. She was wearing a loose-fitting Grecian style tunic dress with an open back to accommodate her wings. The wavy blond hair of her vessel that hung over her shoulders didn't completely hide the collar around her neck though, identical to the one Castiel wore, and hers was similarly chained to inhibit movement.

"I'll live," Castiel replied blandly. There was nothing more he could say. "How are you?"

She shifted, legs curled under her and wings tucking closer to her body. "I don't like being kept in a cage," she said softly.

Castiel agreed with a nod. "How did you get here?"

"I—I went to meet with Arundel," she said, her voice wavering and her eyes went in the complete opposite direction of where the other angel's wings were now mounted on the wall. Thankfully, they couldn't see them from their position in the cage. "He had been missing for several weeks, and I was told to meet with him. I just thought he had been on a mission and that I was to hear his report. But I was met with someone else." Her eyes came up to meet Castiel's. "Tobias."

Castiel's eyes flew open. "Tobias? I thought he was dead."

"We did as well," Lauriel said then frowned thoughtfully. "He's…I think he's human."

Things started clicking together in Castiel's brain. "Human? That would explain why I didn't quite recognize him. How did he get to be human?"

"I don't know," Lauriel said. "Castiel, since you fell, our entire garrison has been under close scrutiny. Zachariah…he has been keeping a tight leash on all of us. Angels have been disappearing, angels who had the same ideals as you and…me. I fear…" she took a shuddering breath. "I fear this has been their fate—like Arundel's."

Castiel reached out and placed his hand over hers. "We'll find a way to get out of this together, Lauriel."

"How?" she demanded.

Castiel forced a wry smile. "One thing I learned from the Winchesters is that there is always a way if you are brave enough to do it."

"Or foolish, perhaps," Lauriel added.

"Perhaps," Castiel amended. "I—found Arundel's body. He has been properly laid to rest. Or, as properly as he could be."

Lauriel shuddered and a tear slid from her eye. "I cannot imagine what he went through. I can only think death would be a mercy after that."

Castiel swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, his throat too tight to speak. He cleared it and changed the subject back to their situation. "I tried to contact you to see if you knew about Arundel. Did you hear my message?"

She shook her head. "No. I think this collar is blocking that as well."

"How long have you been here?"

"Only a couple days," she replied. "This is a horrible place. Humans can be so strangely cruel, can't they? Especially when they profess to not be cruel at all. But then, now I have seen such horrors performed by our own kind as well."

"If Zachariah is behind this, do you think he's using Tobias?" Castiel asked her. "I was only taken because I wasn't expecting a human to show up; he caught me by surprise."

"Me too, I couldn't even feel him. He must be warded as well."

"Was he…with Zachariah before?" Castiel asked. He hadn't known Tobias well, even though they had been in the same garrison. From what he remembered he had been vaguely arrogant, always looking for ways to better himself. Just the kind of person Zachariah liked to latch on to and corrupt to his own leanings.

"No, I was sure he was with you, wanting to know the truth of where our orders came from, but then, not in the same way. He tried to get others to join him; as if he wanted a rebellion." She looked vaguely apologetic. "Said you were doing the wrong thing siding with the humans and that angels should stick together. I thought he had died in the final skirmishes trying to stop the Seals from breaking, but maybe not. Perhaps he was taken for punishment. I cannot see him giving up his grace freely."

Castiel pondered this. Would Zachariah truly cut another angel's grace out for punishment? His stomach twisted as he realized he didn't even need to ask that question. Zachariah was a wicked angel and worse, petty. He was capable of that and more. Castiel shivered as he remembered some of the 're-education' sessions Zachariah had sat in on, making the torture so unbearable Castiel had somehow allowed them to twist his mind into obeying again, even though he knew he wasn't obeying the right thing. But still, cutting out an angel's grace, physically removing their wings, this was something few demons would even consider, and the fact that it was one of their own made it twice as sickening.

He frowned as he remembered his capture, still a little fuzzy, but coming back in pieces. "Tobias, when he took me, he said something about redemption. Said I was past mine, but he could still prove himself or something of that nature."

Lauriel nodded thoughtfully. "He said something very similar when he took me. Is it possible Zachariah is holding his grace over him as leverage—something to earn back when he finishes doing Zachariah's dirty work?"

"That does sound like something Zachariah would do," Castiel replied darkly, anger toward the higher angel shooting through him. "But why this?" He motioned around them. "What purpose could all of this have? Why not deliver us directly to Zachariah for whatever punishment he sees fit?"

"I don't understand it either, Castiel," Lauriel said with a sigh as she pulled at the collar around her throat. "But someone must have told Edgar Cartwright about how to hold us. These sigils are old and powerful. I've never seen binding like this outside of the prisons in Heaven."

Castiel bent forward to study hers more closely and saw that she was right. He sat back with a sinking feeling. "There's no way we can break it."

"I thought perhaps we could try to find something to scratch some of the sigils through," Lauriel said hopefully. "If we can even break several of them, perhaps we can access some of our powers, enough to get out of this cage at least."

"It could work," Castiel agreed.

"I haven't found anything yet, but the guards come in and check on everything all the time, we may be able to steal something from them. And Cartwright, he likes to come in and watch us." She shivered slightly. "I don't like him."

"I don't either," Castiel confessed. "He is insane, and I believe dangerous. It's probably best not to incite him to anger before we can figure out what to do. Until then…"

"We're practically human," Lauriel replied softly.

Castiel sighed. "My grace was already failing. I have hardly a third of my power left."

Lauriel's hazel eyes looked up at him sorrowfully. "What's it feel like, being cut off, Castiel?"

He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap, then said, "It is like trying to swim upriver and losing ground with every stroke, until the eventual waterfall."

She reached out to touch his wrist lightly. "For what it's worth, Castiel, there are still angels who believe in the same thing as you do."

"But for how much longer?" Castiel asked darkly. If they didn't get out of there and stop whoever was responsible for this, then he feared there would be no truly loyal angels left in Heaven.

~~~~~~~

Dean came back to the motel room with no better leads than he'd had before. He had tried looking for any sign of Cas or who might have taken him, but found nothing, and finally decided it would be best just to head back and help Sam with whatever research he was trying to do. Hopefully, Bobby might have found something in the meantime.

Sam looked up at him tiredly when Dean returned to the room and slammed the door behind him. "Nothing?" he asked half-heartedly.

"What do you think?" Dean snapped. "When do we ever get a break? I knew I should have gone with him."

"Dean, if you had, then you would both be taken and there'd be even less outside help," Sam tried, but Dean wasn't really in the mood for listening to things he knew well enough.

"You hear anything from Bobby?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm calling him, let him know what happened," Dean decided and pulled out his phone. He dialed Bobby's number and put it on speaker as he leaned over the table.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice came over the phone. "What's up now?"

"Cas is gone," Dean ground out. "The idiot's been taken by whoever is snatching angels, so please tell me you have something."

"Dammit, boys!" Bobby shouted then sighed. "Well, I ain't got anything at the moment. I've been calling around but so far no one has seen anything that looks like an angel killing. Half the hunters have laughed in my face when I mentioned angels at all."

"Great," Dean muttered, running a hand over his face. "What now?"

"Well, I haven't exhausted my resources yet, I still have a few people to call. Some non-hunters too, who might have heard something. The problem is, you boys have pissed off a lot of hunters what with starting the apocalypse and all, and half of them aren't willing to help you or me out either way."

Sam's posture shifted and Dean looked over at him, angry to see the expression of guilt on his younger brother's face, but now wasn't the time.

"Well, do what you can anyway, Bobby," Sam said quietly. "Cas needs our help. We're the only family he has anymore."

Dean looked at his brother again, surprised, but nodded swiftly in agreement. If Cas' angelic family were determined to hunt him down and kill him horrifically, then they would be there for him instead. And Dean was determined to make sure that Cas knew he had a family to go to even after he fell.

"I know that," Bobby grunted, voice softening a bit. "You idjits be careful and try not to do anything stupid. And stay off angel radar at least until I exhaust our resources."

"Yes, sir," Sam said and Dean huffed an agreement before ending the call.

"Alright, what happens now?" he asked. "We just sit here on our thumbs?"

"I think we need to start broadening our search," Sam said. "I was thinking, maybe this isn't a conspiracy at all, and is just an angel gone rogue. Best case scenario, right?"

"Yeah, and when is it ever the best case scenario?" Dean snorted, going over to the mini-fridge and pulling out two beers.

Sam sighed. "Say for a minute it is, though. What if the killer wasn't always this messy? Maybe he's devolving, not being as careful anymore."

Dean groaned. "Sam, this isn't one of your serial killers, angels don't go by the same rules."

"But why not?" Sam asked. "Look, it's just a idea, and we don't really have a ton of other leads right now. What I'm looking for now is just strange events; you know, like how you can track demon signs? Well, it always seems like angels leave a trail whenever they do stuff too, so I thought I would just look into anything strange happening in the area, and try to pinpoint a general location of activity."

"Okay," Dean conceded. "So what do I do?"

Sam smiled at him. "Why don't you get a press pass and go talk to the locals? Anything weird. You know how people love to talk about that kind of stuff."

"Fine," Dean said, but he still had the gut feeling that they were on the wrong track and he didn't like feeling like that. Especially since he couldn't get the image of the angel's corpse out of his mind. The thought of Cas dying like that after everything he had already gone through to make sure the brothers survived so far, made him angry. He deserved so much better than that.

Dean was determined to save his friend, even if it meant giving himself up to do so.

~~~~~~~

Castiel wasn't sure how long it was before anyone came back. In that time, he had explored the cage he and Lauriel were kept in, trying to see if it had any weak points. It was about eight feet tall, twelve wide, and five deep, and while it looked ornate in design—rather uncomfortably like a large birdcage—it was deceptively strong and with their powers on lockdown, there was no way they would get out of it even if they could manage to escape the collars.

The collars themselves were attached by the chains to large rings bolted into the wall behind the cage; just far enough away for Castiel to brush with the tips of his fingers, but not to get any leverage to remove them or dig the wall out around them. The collars didn't seem to be locked by any normal means either. Castiel had studied Lauriel's at length and couldn't even find a fissure where it had been snapped around her neck. It must have been closed by the spellwork that bound their powers. They wouldn't be able to pick them even if they did manage to procure a lockpick. It looked like they would have to consider Lauriel's plan about scoring out the sigils. But Castiel had the feeling the collars were of angelic make which meant that nothing less than an angel blade would put a scratch on them.

Eventually, he sat down on the bench that ran along the back of the cage, covered in satin pillows. "We may have better luck if we wait for Cartwright to take us out of the cage."

"But what if he never does?" Lauriel asked. "He has no reason to."

"True," Castiel said dejectedly. They couldn't even contact other angels in their position, but even if they had been able to, Castiel had already found out the hard way that messages to the garrison were being monitored. Otherwise they wouldn't have known where he was supposed to meet with Lauriel.

"Sam and Dean are working the case, they'll try to find out what happened," Castiel said quietly after a while. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Part of him wished they wouldn't because it would only put them in danger and the other part was touched because he knew they would look until they found out what had happened to him despite the danger of the mission. The loyalty was appreciated, but not if they ended up getting themselves captured by the angels for it.

"The Winchesters are only human, Castiel. We cannot count on them," Lauriel said gently.

He turned to look her in the eye. "I do."

She opened her mouth to say something when footsteps were heard at the entrance to the room. Castiel and Lauriel stood and moved to the front of the cage, looking out to see Cartwright and his two guards from earlier come through the room. One of the guards pushed a cart and the other wielded the cattle prod again, as well as a set of keys. They went first to the djinn's exhibit and unlocked a small door at one side, setting a tray of food from the cart there. She rose from her spot and cautiously went to retrieve the food as they continued on toward the vampire. She backed away instantly as if afraid of them, and they pushed a tray into her exhibit as well that only held a fancy goblet. Castiel figured it must have contained blood.

After that, they turned toward the angels, and Cartwright smiled at them, hands clasped behind his back as he stood outside the cage. "Enjoying your stay so far?"

"No," Castiel replied honestly. "It is not necessary to keep us in this cage."

"Oh, but it is," Cartwright said matter-of-factly. "If I don't, how will I keep you as part of my collection? You must stay here, otherwise it won't be right. And it must be right for tomorrow. Everything must be in its place."

Castiel shared a glance with Lauriel. Was the man simply mad, or was something actually happening the next day?

He was distracted as the bottom of the cage was opened and two covered trays slid inside. Castiel watched Lauriel cautiously open one and reveal a meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans.

"We do not require food," she said, confused. Castiel nodded in agreement, though in all honesty, the food looked rather appealing, and he wondered if maybe the lock on his grace as well as his already depleted energy didn't mean his body needed sustenance. Not that he was about to let that be known to this madman.

"Ah, I wasn't entirely sure," Cartwright said with a shrug. "I thought I would share some of my supper with you. It's good to keep your strength up." He turned to the cart and pulled a bundle from beneath it. "Castiel, you must change into your costume."

Castiel stared blankly at the clothing Cartwright handed through the bars of the cage to him. It seemed to be some sort of Grecian or Roman costume, with an embossed leather breastplate accompanied by a tunic and leather kilt. He frowned.

"Why should I wear this?"

"For authenticity, of course," Cartwright said insistently. "An angelic warrior."

"I never wore anything like this," Castiel told him. "No one has, for centuries. Angels typically wear business suits now."

"You must wear it," Cartwright insisted, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "It will not be right if you don't. It will disappoint the guests."

"Guests?" Castiel asked.

"For my gala," Cartwright said, his eyes lighting up again as one of the guards unhooked Castiel's chain from the wall so he could dress. "Tomorrow night I am holding a gathering for people who share the same interests as I do, collectors and sellers and buyers. You two are the main attraction, so you see, you must be perfect. If only there was something I could do about your damaged wings." He sighed as he looked at Castiel, fingers tracing some of the rugged feathers that had slid through the bars.

Castiel fought the urge to pull his wing back, not wanting to provoke another round with the cattle prod. He sighed and turned to putting on the clothes. The tunic had long slits in the back for his wings, but it was difficult to situate it properly and Lauriel had to help, also assisting with getting the breastplate buckled correctly. The leather straps settled annoyingly tight between his wings and felt like they would chafe. Once he had reluctantly traded his trousers and loafers for the kilt and sandals he felt…ridiculous. There were very few times he had experienced embarrassment, but he knew this is what that emotion felt like.

"Perfect," Cartwright beamed at him. "You two make a fine set. Very, very fine." He turned to the guards. "Now there is so much to see to before tomorrow night. Come, Simpson, Harold, we must brief the others on what needs to be done."

He strode out of the room with the guards hurrying to keep up and Castiel watched, confused.

"What does that mean, a gala?" Lauriel asked him. "He's having people here? To look at us?"

"I don't know," Castiel said. "But I don't think this is a good thing at all." He didn't like the idea of people, random people, coming here and seeing everything Edgar Cartwright had in his collection. Was the man insane? Well, from what Castiel had seen, insanity was a definite possibility. But what would regular human beings do with the knowledge they came across here. Finding out that such things existed? It could not end well.

On the other hand, it was possible that Sam and Dean might find a way to get into the gala. Something like this would certainly be heard about among the supernatural community, right? He hated that he had to rely on the Winchesters as his only hope, not wanting to put them in danger, but it was looking more and more like they were his and Lauriel's only chance of getting out of there and he would be lying if he said he didn't want to be as far away from Cartwright and his insanity as possible.

He sighed and sat down on the bench again, shifting in his uncomfortable outfit and pulling one of his wings around, studying the feathers. They really were rather torn and singed on the edges, some crooked, and even a few missing. Still, there was something that made him bristle when Cartwright demeaned their damage. The man was so superficial. Castiel didn't care that his wings weren't exactly pretty anymore; he had earned the damage in battle. Still, the fact they had not healed completely even though it had been over a year since he had pulled Dean from hell was something he couldn't ignore. They would never heal now that he was falling. He wondered if they would even continue to exist when it was over and he was human in everything but name. He dragged his fingers sadly through several particularly crooked feathers, attempting to smooth them out.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Castiel," Lauriel told him quietly.

"There are a lot of angels who would not share those sentiments," he told her tersely.

"I know," she nodded. "But they were scars won for a good cause. You should be proud. You were the only one brave enough to venture fully into the furthest reaches of hell to rescue Dean Winchester. Even when the other angels lost hope."

Castiel caught her look of shame and he shook his head. "It was always my duty, not yours or any others, Lauriel. I did not fault any of you. I always knew saving Dean was something I would have to do alone. He was my responsibility."

"Is that why you fell for him and Sam?" she asked, voice slightly hesitant. "Because protecting them was your responsibility?"

"No," Castiel replied immediately. "I…I saw something in them that I had forgotten about. They taught me to trust myself when I knew something was wrong. They taught me to think for myself. I only wish that I could have realized it sooner." He closed his eyes, remembering how he had let Sam out of the panic room so he could kill Lilith, thus breaking the final Seal. Oh, the perils of good intentions. It was true that he hadn't known everything, but he had known enough to realize that obeying any orders from the higher-ups at the time was probably disastrous. But he regretted the fact that while pondering his course of action, the only thing he could remember was being pulled forcibly from his vessel and taken to heaven, tortured for hours on end—Zachariah making sure he knew whom he served. Perhaps he was simply a coward.

"I'm not sure I fully understand your reasons," Lauriel said slowly. "But I think you did the right thing."

"I hope so," Castiel said, looking up at the skylight in the ceiling and only wishing he knew for sure.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam woke from his cat nap to Dean mumbling slightly over the computer, rubbing his eyes and taking up the already half drunk fifth of whisky for another swig. Sam swallowed hard; he hated seeing his brother like this, even though this had been more familiar than anything else in the past few months. But now, they had already had enough loses in this war, and with Cas who knew where, having God knows what done to him, well, Sam could understand Dean's distress. He would have liked to show his own too, but someone had to be rational and not end up getting them both killed. Sam was honestly afraid that if Dean continued down this road with his depression and hopelessness, he would do something stupid and say yes to Michael just because he saw no other option. Sam was determined to make sure that didn't happen.

He sat up and stretched, yawning off the—three hours of sleep, as he saw from the clock. "Hey," he said to Dean. "Find anything?"

Dean closed the laptop and dropped his head into his hand. "A big steaming pile of nothing. I don't know, man, maybe this was the first time it's happened. Or maybe it's the first time whoever did this got sloppy. I just don't know. But I think we need to change tactics and go out and look in the woods again. It's possible that the perp is hiding out there."

"I guess we don't really have anything better to do," Sam said as he stood and grabbed fresh clothes for a shower. "Why don't you go get some breakfast and then we'll head out?"

An hour later found them trekking through the woods, starting at the spot where they had found the angel's body, and heading in the direction Cas had said he followed.

"Maybe the road leads somewhere?" Sam said.

"Of course it leads somewhere, Sammy," Dean couldn't help but quip.

Sam shot him a bitchface. "You know what I mean."

"Probably just a ranger station."

"Well, it can't hurt to check it out."

They hiked down the road for a couple miles before they came to a ranger outpost. Seeing the truck parked outside, they headed back into the trees and followed deeper into the forest. It didn't look like there were a lot of hiking trails out this way since there was a lot of underbrush that wasn't really friendly for a casual stroll. Dean cursed as he got caught up in some fallen branches and tore a new hole in his jeans. Sam almost smirked but his phone rang and he quickly answered it when he saw it was Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby, what's up?"

"Well, I'm afraid I don't really have any good news for you boys. Nothing definitive came up about anything that sounded like angel killings, but I did manage to track down some weird crap that has been happening in the vicinity you boys are in now."

"What kind of weird crap?" Sam asked.

"Freak thunder storms, spontaneous combustion, stuff like that. No cattle deaths or drought though, otherwise I would think it was demon sign."

"So, you think it could be signs of angels?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes as he watched Dean pick his way through a few obviously thorny bushes toward something that had caught his eye.

"I don't know what it is, but something strange is going on around there, that's for sure, and it's been going on longer than two weeks, so there must be more than just that one angel."

"Okay, thanks, Bobby. Let us know if you find anything else," Sam said.

"Same to you, and again, be careful. Idjits." He hung up the phone before Sam could reply and the younger Winchester snorted before he turned back to his brother.

"Sam," Dean called. "Come here."

Sam stumbled through the underbrush to get over to Dean and saw him crouched on the ground, scraping at some loam that looked like it had been overturned recently and was slightly raised. Sam swallowed hard and knelt next to him, helping clear some of the leaves away.

A few more handfuls and he recoiled, revealing a pale hand.

"Ugh," he groaned, pressing the back of his wrist against his nose. He could smell more than just plant decay now.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, pulling a face as he and Sam worked to uncover the rest of the body, before turning it over onto its side and seeing the dark clotted scars where wings had once rested between the shoulder blades.

Sam swallowed down the bile that was threatening to rise. "Well, that answers our question."

"Yeah," Dean said darkly. "The only thing it doesn't answer is where the hell Cas is?"

~~~~~~~

Castiel and Lauriel watched as Cartwright's staff set up long tables in the huge gallery, and made sure the room was clean and everything in its proper place. Maids gave all the display cases a good washing and fixed plaques up that likely explained what the items were. Castiel hadn't expected Cartwright to have so many people on his staff, but within the course of the day, he had counted at least eight maids and ten of the men who seemed to be footmen-cum-guards. Though the house must have been rather large, even from the little Castiel had seen of it, it still disheartened him to see that there were so many, and perhaps even more. With valuables such as these, Cartwright must have had more than a simple security system. It probably wasn't inaccurate to think that he had guards on the perimeter of the property as well. This would make escape, if they ever got the chance for it, even more difficult.

"It's coming together, good, good." Cartwright made an appearance, practically glowing with excitement; he almost skipped over to the angels' cage. "I cannot wait to show you to my guests. They have never seen such beautiful creatures before. I have never had anything so spectacular to show them. And, ah, I must show you my newest acquisition that I just went to pick up this morning." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small bottle that glowed between his fingers. Lauriel gasped and Castiel felt instantly ill.

"No," Lauriel whispered. "That's not…"

"An angel's grace, I've been told. Absolutely fascinating." Cartwright's eyes lit up so much they were practically glowing themselves. "This is the sort of thing I have been looking for. Things no one has ever seen before, things that I haven't seen even in all my travels. One day my collection will have everything."

"That is not meant for you!" Lauriel said angrily. "Where did you get it?"

"I bought it from a supplier," Cartwright told her, still gazing at the bottle of captured grace. "Very expensive, but tonight I plan to make some of the money back. I have to weed out my collections, you see, there's just not room for everything. Only the best of the best. And there are so many more, he said. I don't have to keep any one for so long."

Castiel tried to figure out what the man was going on about now, but Cartwright seemed bored of them or otherwise distracted, and went off to a display case to one side of their cage, talking to one of the maids cleaning it, and helping to situate the bottle of grace inside, placed on a small pedestal.

Castiel wondered who it had belonged to. Was it possible that it belonged to Tobias himself? But if that were the case why would he still be working with Zachariah or whoever if he knew his grace had been sold like a priceless jewel? Unless he didn't know where the angels he captured went. But somehow, Castiel had the feeling it had belonged to another victim and that only made it worse.

He and Lauriel stayed mostly silent the rest of the afternoon, both with their own thoughts. Castiel didn't like the idea of being an exhibit, it went against everything Sam and Dean had taught him about keeping a low profile since he had started hunting with them. And now here he was dressed ridiculously with his wings corporeal and people were going to be looking at him like he was some zoo attraction. At the very least he missed his trench coat. He had grown rather fond of it, he realized, and he felt rather bare without it.

He could tell when it was night as the light faded from the skylights, and was replaced by blackness and what would later be stars and the moon. One thing he was glad of was that he could see the passage of the days. The preparations for the gala seemed to be mostly done now, and maids were setting out plates of h'ordeuvores and glasses of champagne on the tables.

Cartwright came back into the room with several of his men. He was now dressed in a three-piece suit that looked like it had been made at the turn of the century. The waistcoat was ornate, and the overcoat was black and had tails that went down to the man's knees. Even more insane was the top hat the man wore. Apparently Edgar Cartwright was obsessed with costumes of all kinds, even for himself.

"I want them moved to the middle of the room," Cartwright was saying as they came over to Lauriel and Castiel. "That way everyone will see them when I make the reveal."

Castiel watched with interest as two guards came around the back of their cage and unhooked the chains from the walls, but instantly hooked them onto the cage bars. Still, Castiel might be able to do something with that. If he had the time, anyway.

He and Lauriel gripped the bars of the cage as it was rolled out into the middle of the room where anyone standing there would be able to see them.

"Perfect, perfect," Cartwright was muttering gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "Now, Castiel, Lauriel, I want you to cooperate tonight. People will want to see your wings, you must show them."

Castiel leveled a glare at the man, just about done with being a sideshow attraction. "We are warriors of the Lord. We do not perform like caged birds."

"You will do what I ask!" Cartwright shouted, anger crashing over his face so suddenly that Castiel almost took a step back. "It must be perfect. It must be just right!"

"They will obey," one of the guards told him, and Castiel noticed the man had a cattle prod attached to his belt. "Do not worry, sir."

"Of course, of course," Cartwright said, and seemed to calm instantly, his mood swings as violent as ever. "Cover them up then. The guests will be arriving within the hour."

Castiel looked up as silky sheets were thrown over their cage, leaving the two angels in private for the time being. They looked at each other.

"This is demeaning, Castiel," Lauriel said, her face flushed in anger.

"I know," he said, walking over to the bars where his chain was attached and seeing how it had been hooked on. It looked like a heavy lock, but didn't seem to have any warding to it. A lockpick should get it open well enough. "I may have a plan though."

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

Castiel gave her a wry smile. "Stupid."

~~~~~~~

Castiel heard when the guests started to arrive and he waited for the moment Cartwright would want to show him and Lauriel off to the crowd. There seemed to be at least twenty-five people there, possibly more. He could hear them milling around in the first hall of artifacts and Cartwright's voice above them all, chatting about his collection as amiably as could be. Castiel again wondered why sometimes the man could be so friendly and others, a frightening, almost psychotic rage showed through. He wondered if he would ever fully understand the strange nuances of human nature.

He tensed as he heard the crowd move into the exhibition room, gasps of awe at what was seen, exclamations as the guests viewed the exhibits of the djinn and the vampire. Lauriel started pacing nervously and Castiel reached out to touch her shoulder gently, trying to calm her, even though he was less than thrilled about this development. Their stay with Cartwright was just getting worse and worse. He supposed he should be grateful that no one had tried to cut their wings off yet.

It seemed hours that they waited under the increasingly stifling cloth, listening to the guests chat and drink champagne, before Cartwright clinked something against his glass to get everyone's attention, sounding like he was standing close to the cage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, now it is time to reveal the main attraction of the evening. And I must remind you that what you are about to see is the genuine article. So without further ado, I give you two, authentic living angels."

The cloth was swept away from the bars dramatically, and Castiel and Lauriel both shrunk to the back of the cage, blinking in the sudden brightness as gasps and exclamations of awe sounded out from the guests. Castiel swallowed hard, feeling ashamed and humiliated standing there in the stupid costume while men and women dressed in fancy evening attire crowded closer to get a better look at them. In spite of Cartwright's earlier instructions, he only drew his wings closer to his body, trying to hide as much of them as he could behind him. Lauriel edged closer to him, seeming just as mortified as he was with being a spectacle.

Cartwright motioned grandly toward the cage. "We have the beautiful Lauriel, utterly angelic in every sense of the word and the brave warrior, Castiel. See their magnificent wings!"

Castiel and Lauriel looked at each other, knowing this was a cue to show their wings to the crowd, but that was the last thing they wanted to do, and there wasn't even enough room in the cage to fully extend them. Two of the guards stood at the back of the cage and nodded to them sternly, one reaching up to yank on Castiel's chain. He cast a look back at Cartwright and saw the man beginning to get impatient, anger flaring up behind his eyes.

"Show the people your wings," he demanded.

The guard closest to Lauriel reached for the cattle prod on his belt and Castiel stepped forward, not wanting her to suffer, and slowly extended his wings, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

Lauriel swallowed hard and stepped forward in determination, opening hers too, sharing a look with Castiel to let him know she was with him. Her bright white feathers shown almost pearly, like opals, in the light and the people were instantly enchanted with the sight of the beautiful angel—probably their quintessential idea of one, Castiel thought with some wry amusement. But he almost felt a small snap of sorrow comparing her wings to his, as they were whole and lovely, and his were so ragged.

"Brilliant!" Cartwright whispered, beaming up at the two who slowly tucked their wings away again. He turned to the crowd. "Now, allow me to show you the rest of my collection."

Several people lingered, watching Castiel and Lauriel, one couple in particular, the man leaning close to his wife's ear and speaking quietly as he nodded to Lauriel. Castiel didn't like that at all, and moved protectively in front of her to block their view. Whatever they were saying couldn't be good.

Eventually, though, they moved on to look at the collection Cartwright was showing to everyone now, which included the unknown angel's grace and Arundel's wings. Castiel fumed with indignation and disgust, so much so that he didn't notice the two teenagers until they were right up near the cage.

"Dude, don't let anyone see you," one said quietly, looking around the room as his companion, another young man the same age, held a cell phone and was currently pointing it at the cage and the two angels inside. Castiel glared angrily at them.

"Don't worry, no one will know we're taking a video. This is totally going to go viral. See if you can get them to come closer."

The first boy stepped closer to the cage and grinned up at Lauriel. "Man, she is super hot. Come here sweetheart."

Lauriel glared at him and retreated another step, folding her arms over her chest. The boy wasn't taking no for an answer because he reached into the cage between the bars and wheedled, "Aw, come on, I just want to touch your wings. Can you give me a feather maybe?" His fingers grazed her primary feathers and Lauriel jerked away.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

"Dude," the boy with the phone laughed. "She's feisty."

The other boy strained through the bars again. "Come on, just one little feather." His fist almost closed around several feathers but Castiel had had enough. He leapt forward as far as his chain would allow and grabbed the boy's wrist in a crushing grip, yanking him up against the bars of the cage, and causing him to cry out in pain.

"Leave her alone," Castiel gritted out, glaring the miscreant down.

Unfortunately this had attracted the attention of the other guests, and the second boy quickly stowed the phone as Cartwright and others converged.

"Let him go!" one man demanded, and from his similar looks, Castiel took it to be the boy's father.

"You're supposed to stay out of the exhibits!" Cartwright shouted at the boy, then turned to Castiel. "Castiel, drop him."

The angel hesitated a second in defiance, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like being treated like a dog. Then Lauriel cried a warning and something was shoved against his lower back before he felt the now familiar surge of electricity go through him. He collapsed to the floor and since he was already at the end of his chain when he fell the collar choked him as he spasmed under the electrical current.

He must have blacked out for a minute, because the next thing he was aware of was them putting the cover back over the cage and Cartwright's voice saying. "There will be no more viewing of the angels tonight. Interested parties may come back in the morning."

He didn't even have the brain capacity to wonder what 'interested parties' might mean. His body ached and he was only vaguely aware of Lauriel kneeling beside him, a cool hand pressed against his shoulder, asking if he were all right.

"Didn't work," he muttered levering himself up shakily and allowing Lauriel to help him lie down on one of the benches.

"Please tell me that wasn't your plan, Castiel."

"Not exactly," he said, though angering the guards had been part of it. He had been hoping for them to get close enough so he could grab a key, but his anger at the boys had made him hasty and he hadn't been thinking of the plan at that moment. Dean and Sam were much better at this sort of thing than he was.

"It doesn't matter," Lauriel told him quietly. "We'll find another way out of here."

"I hope so," Castiel replied.

~~~~~~~

Sam and Dean unearthed three bodies total in the woods. Two had marks of their wings being cut off, and the third had a gaping hole in its throat as well as a stab wound in the chest made by an angel blade like all the others. This angel may not have lost his wings, but Sam would have bet that the wound on his throat indicated that his grace had been cut out and that was just as bad.

They were silent on their drive back into town, having given the three bodies a hunter's funeral like Arundel. Sam was exhausted and he could tell Dean was worse, not having slept at all since Cas disappeared and even more worried now that they knew angels were definitely dying horribly and that the one hadn't just been a singular occurrence. What was worse was that they had no timeline to go by, had no idea how long they had to find Cas before it was too late. It had already been over thirty-six hours and he had a feeling forty-eight would be pushing it. He didn't want to quote the statistic for kidnapping victims, knowing it was usually lucky if they survived the first twenty-four hours—it wouldn't help Dean at all, or Cas. The only consolation they had was that they'd been out there in the woods all day and they hadn't seen any sign of Cas dead or alive, or any other person for that matter. But Sam wasn't stupid, and he knew that it was incredibly likely that if they didn't find any lead on Cas by tomorrow then their change of getting to him in time was slim to none. Dean obviously knew that too, which was why he had shut down, and was avoiding any conversation. Sam didn't torture him by stating the obvious but he did wish Dean would talk to him. He always hated seeing his brother like this, and wished there was some way he could help him.

They had been out in the woods all day, and didn't get back to the motel until after midnight. Dean only went inside to change his dirty clothes before he left again without a word, probably on a liquor run. Sam sighed and took a quick shower before he came back, then sat down at his laptop again to see if any new news reports had come up while they had been in the woods.

Sam randomly typed in searches for anything and everything, scrolling with tired eyes, chin propped up on one hand, as he looked at the newest results.

He was about to give up when something popped up on a search that caught his eye. He frowned, reading the description, seeing it was a video that seemed to have gone viral in only the last few hours. He clicked through to the link and frowned, listening to what sounded like two teenage boys. He was about to click away when the video suddenly took a turn and his eyes shot wide.

He had found Cas.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and just sat at the wheel for a moment. He was exhausted, but knew he wouldn't sleep that night either. Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed of Cas dead, and that morphed into Sam being dead as well, or worse, possessed by Lucifer. As if they didn't already have enough problems. He sighed tiredly and cut the engine, grabbing the fresh bottle of whisky wrapped in a paper bag and the beers he had bought.

He was prepared to settle in for a long night as far from sober as possible and trying to look up dead end clues on where Cas might be, but he found Sam staring wide-eyed at the laptop when he got into the room, his younger brother typing furiously at the keyboard.

Sam looked up instantly as the door opened. "Dean, get over here, you have to see this."

Dean's stomach dropped as he hurried over, fearing bad news.

"What?" he demanded, leaning over the back of Sam's chair.

The younger man swallowed hard and shook his head, pulling up a different tab on his internet browser. "Just…watch this."

Dean was about to demand more info but frowned as Sam clicked the video he had brought up to play. Dean was even more confused when he saw it entitled "When Angels Attack—REAL Angels!" Then he watched it, his hand gripping the back of Sam's chair, knuckles white.

First the video was focused on a boy, about seventeen or so, grinning at the camera that was the bad quality of a phone video while the aspiring filmmaker said "Smile for the camera!"

"Dude, don't let anyone see you," the kid in the video said before the camera panned around and showed some sort of room that looked like it was in a museum somewhere with cases full of weird items Dean couldn't distinguish in the video.

It then turned toward a cage, which the teenager stepped up to, grinning and looking up at whatever was in there. The camera panned up and showed an attractive blond woman, dressed in white. Dean squinted as he realized she had…wings? What the hell?

The camera zoomed in on her chest and Dean snorted. "What the hell is this, Sam?"

"Just watch, Dean," Sam replied, his voice tight.

The teen in the video was now reaching through the bars of the cage toward the woman and trying to get her to come closer while she protested. He ignored her and reached for her wing when another figure stepped up to the bars and a hand closed around the teenager's wrist, yanking him forward so he slammed into the cage bars.

"Leave her alone!" growled a familiar voice.

The cameraman had leapt back as his friend was yanked forward and the picture had gone blurry but in another second it focused on the second figure for just an instant before the video cut out. But even in that short period of time, Dean recognized his friend.

"Cas?!" he shouted, yanking the laptop closer to him and rolling the video back several seconds to watch it again, freezing it on Cas' figure, anger clouding the angel's blue eyes as he glared down at the teenager. Dean frowned vaguely at the strange outfit Cas was wearing but forgot about that when he noticed something else. Dark shadows were arching behind Cas, but not like they usually did when he did his angel power up thing; this time, his wings weren't just shadows, but fully corporeal appendages with glossy raven black feathers that were bristling with anger.

"Son of a bitch." He gaped at the picture some more. "What the hell?"

"I don't know, but that's Cas," Sam said simply and shoved Dean aside again as he resumed working on his laptop. "This video was posted about three hours ago. He's still alive, Dean." He looked up to meet Dean's eyes and the elder brother saw the hope and relief he felt reflected in the hazel orbs.

"Yeah, but for how long?" he asked grimly. "And where is he? A…freakin' museum?"

"I don't know, but I do know how we can find out," Sam told him as he continued to work. "I'm tracking the IP address of the person who posted the video. I assume it's the teenager who filmed it and I should be able to find his address. We'll go and question him first thing in the morning. Once we know where Cas is being kept, we'll get him out of there."

Dean sank into the chair across the table from Sam, still feeling helpless, but at least knowing they had a lead now. "What can I do?"

"Call Bobby, he's probably still up," Sam said. "And then get some sleep. You can hardly stand, Dean."

Dean wanted to protest but he knew Sam was right, especially if they were going to be launching a rescue mission the next day. "Fine, but we're doing this first thing in the morning. I'm not gonna let Cas get his wings clipped."

"Me either," Sam said sincerely as Dean took out his phone and the younger brother went back to work.

Cas was going to get out of there. They would make sure of it.

~~~~~~~

Castiel and Lauriel were silent that night. Their cage was still covered so they couldn't see out into the gallery, but they listened to Cartwright's people cleaning up for hours after the guests left. Now that Castiel was a little more himself, having recovered from his electric shock, he began to ruminate on what Cartwright may have meant when he said that 'interested parties' could come back the next morning. Interested in what exactly? He just felt it wasn't a good thing.

The other thing he didn't want to dwell on was that he was vaguely disappointed that Sam and Dean hadn't shown up at the gala. He supposed in reality, he had never really expected to see them, but there had been a chance, though it would have been difficult indeed for them to find out about the gala and procure an invitation at the last minute. He only hoped it was their ignorance of the event that had kept them away and not that they had been captured by Zachariah during their search.

Of course, there was also the third possibility and that was that they thought a falling angel just wasn't worth the effort.

Castiel wouldn't have blamed them for that sentiment, even if it hurt. But he had thought that in the last few months they had become more than just working partners. Sam and Dean had treated him like a peer, a third member of their hunting party, and in many ways like a brother. Like family. Castiel felt that way about the Winchesters too, and he hoped the feeling was reciprocated.

A few hours after the cleanup was finished, the room started to get light again behind the sheet, and Castiel figured that meant morning was here. Unease at the anticipation of what might come settled into his stomach. He really hated these increasingly human feelings. They made things so much worse.

Lauriel was sitting on the pillowed bench with her arms wrapped around her knees, leaning in the corner of the cage with her wings wrapped around her body as if she were cold. Castiel wished he could offer her some encouragement, but he truthfully had none to give. He was under no illusion that they would survive for long here. As much as Cartwright seemed to love his collections, he had pretty much said that he could get more angels, and in Castiel's mind that only meant they were expendable.

He sat up straighter as he heard footsteps coming toward the gallery and he and Lauriel stood to meet whoever it was. The cover on their cage was taken off and three of the footmen guards stood there with two sets of cuffs. One went behind the cage to unlock the chains attached to their collars while one of the other took keys from his pocket.

"Don't make trouble," he warned, touching the cattle prod at his belt as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Castiel was the closest and the guard who was at the back of the cage, pulled hard on his chain until Castiel was forced to sit on the bench and the other man inside stepped forward cautiously and raised the cattle prod as he hooked the cuffs around first one of Castiel's wrists, then the other.

The third man came into the cage to retrieve him as the other moved on to Lauriel. Castiel was hauled to his feet by the cuffs and the man switched to holding onto the collar chain like a leash once it was passed to him. Castiel felt like a dog and his feathers bristled with anger, making his wings shift and rustle. He was pleased when he saw the guard take a fraction of a step away from him and handle the cattle prod. They were afraid of him—that was good. Perhaps Castiel would have the chance to get the key away from one of them today.

Lauriel was soon pulled over toward him and the three guards marched them from the room. Castiel cast a glance over at the other creatures, seeing the vampire cowering in the corner, and the djinn pressing her hands against the glass as if she wanted to say something, a wide-eyed look as she caught Castiel's gaze.

That couldn't bode well.

"Now," the guard leading Lauriel said. "Mr. Cartwright has some very important guests who are going to see you today and he will not tolerate any infractions. You will do what he tells you to do and you will be civil, understand?"

Castiel wanted to tell him that he was an angel of the Lord and that he didn't have to listen to a lowly human, but he remembered that at the moment he was no stronger than the guard and he couldn't stand the thought of Lauriel being punished along with him. Though he was furious with this situation, he managed to grit out, "Yes."

They were led back into the basement Castiel had woke up in, down the long flight of stairs, but not into the cells this time. They passed the barred doors and continued down a long hall with flickering florescent lights that somehow seemed so strange after the Victorian elegance of the rest of the house, to another room that the guard who didn't have an angel in tow, opened with a key. Castiel and Lauriel were pushed inside.

The room was small, and really had no distinguishing features whatsoever. In fact, it seemed to be merely an antechamber for another room as there was a large double-door that appeared to lead somewhere else.

There were however bars set into the concrete floor and to these were attached first the collar chains that were always present on the angels, and then one of their manacles were undone so the short chain divider between the cuffs could be looped around the bar, therefor keeping them in one place.

Castiel didn't like this place at all. He didn't like being chained up for one, and it felt too clean in there. Like a hospital almost; there was a definite scent of industrial cleaners and bleach. Why that was, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I'll go tell Mr. Cartwright we're ready for him," one of the guards said and left the room.

"Castiel," Lauriel whispered and when he looked over at her he saw fear in her eyes despite her trying to hide it. "What do you think is going on?"

"I'm not sure, but don't worry, we'll handle this," Castiel tried to assure her, but deep down he had a bad feeling that this was the end of the line.

It wasn't long before voices were heard outside the door and Cartwright came in with three men, all of whom Castiel recognized from the gala.

"This way, gentlemen," Cartwright said, leading them toward the angels. They were already looking at Castiel and Lauriel both, though only really paying attention to their wings, as if they were not living creatures and were only objectified by their feathered appendages.

"I'd like to examine them both fully," said one man in a businesslike manner.

"Of course," Cartwright said and snapped at the two angels. "Spread your wings."

"No," Castiel said firmly and was actually surprised when Cartwright stepped forward and grabbed his face hard, yanking him forward until his hips were pressed against the bar.

"Now, Castiel," Cartwright snapped. "You don't want to keep the gentlemen waiting."

He wanted to say they could wait all day, but Lauriel nudged him slightly with her wing.

"Castiel," she said quietly in warning and Castiel saw that the guards were coming with their cattle prods again.

"Stop," Cartwright commanded, holding up a hand. "He'll obey, won't you, Castiel?"

Castiel, hating himself, slowly opened his wings, degradation darkening his features as the three men moved behind them and began to examine their wings in depth. Lauriel made a noise of protest as one began to run his hands over her feathers and it made Castiel want to smite the man.

"Remarkable," the human breathed, not even seeming to realize or care about the discomfort he was causing Lauriel.

"Aren't they?" Cartwright replied, beaming. "These are the most beautiful wings I have seen yet. The last set was amazing, but these are so pure. I was almost tempted to keep these myself as well, but alas, I must part with something after my last purchase."

The three men chuckled as if Cartwright had made a joke, and Castiel felt hands descend on his own wings. He stiffened in disgust, forcing himself to stay still. A hand wrapped around the base of his wing, probing the spot where it met his back as if to see if they were indeed real and Castiel was unable to keep from twitching then, alerting the man that, yes, they were very real, thank you very much, and could knock the bastard flat if he wanted.

"This one's are very rough," the man said almost accusingly, brushing and pulling at the singed edges of Castiel's feathers without care. Castiel winced and jerked his wing out of the man's grip as one of his crooked feathers pulled painfully. "I'm sorry to say I won't pay the price to put something so damaged into my collection. They look practically moth eaten."

"He won't be the last one I get," Cartwright assured him. "My supplier says he can find more."

Castiel looked up at Cartwright again, the self-consciousness he felt about his wings taking a backseat to these words. How many more would end up here after he and Lauriel were killed and their wings were mounted for collection pieces?

Another set of hands descended onto Castiel's wings, but this man shook his head too after a cursory examination. "No, I don't want these either." He moved over to Lauriel. "I will however, be willing to take this pair. Beautiful."

"No," Castiel ground out. "I won't let you."

The men ignored him and Lauriel got more and more distressed, pulling her wings in close to her body again.

"Very well, we will go upstairs and discuss price," Cartwright said and turned to the guards. "Prepare this one. And take the other back to the cage."

"Castiel," Lauriel said frantically, fear in her voice as the guards came to unlock them.

Castiel wasn't going to let them take her. As soon as the guard came to undo his cuffs, he spun around and swung a fist at the man's head. The guard went down with a cry of shock as the two other guards leapt to his defense. Castiel was still attached to the bar by his collar, but he had plenty of room to move. He swung his wing at one man, knocking him flat and grabbed the other around the throat, pressing his back against the bar and bending him over it.

He heard shouting around him, and more footmen were coming in. Lauriel was helping him fight until one got under her dangerous wings and emptied a syringe into her neck. She slumped over the bar almost instantly, likely the victim of the same drug that had put Castiel into this position in the first place.

"Lauriel!" he yelled, but he suddenly went rigid, a cattle prod shoved against his side was pouring electricity into him.

Castiel fell to the ground, shuddering and arching his back at the current, but he took a guard down with him. The torture went on for longer than it ever had before and eventually he just allowed himself to black out.

But not before he had stowed the key he had taken from the guard in his ridiculous breastplate.

~~~~~~~

Sam was able to track the IP address and found the residence it belonged to. He and Dean were up early, dressed in their Fed threads and grabbing coffee on the way. Dean drove while Sam gave directions, and they headed out of the middle of town and into the residential area.

Sam hadn't exactly been sure what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been a sprawling mansion in an upscale neighborhood.

"Are you sure we have the right place?" Dean asked as he parked the Impala out in front of the house.

Sam checked the address again and shrugged. "Yeah, as far as I know. And it does say 'The Miltons' on their fancy mailbox."

"Alright, let's go get this kid to talk," Dean said and got out of the car, stowing his gun in the back of his belt. Sam looked at his askance.

"Dean, you're not going to shoot some stupid teenager," he admonished.

"Feds carry guns," Dean told him and started up the walk. "Come on."

Sam followed, hoping Dean wasn't going to do something that would get them arrested. Dean was first up to the door and rang the doorbell. They waited impatiently for several seconds before the door was opened by a man so stiff he could only be hired help.

"Yes?"

Dean flipped out his FBI badge. "Yeah, is there an Andrew Milton here?"

The man narrowed his eyes, but opened the door further, motioning them inside. "Yes, just wait a moment, please."

Sam and Dean stepped inside the house and their eyes widened as they looked around. Even the entry way was elaborate and held several original paintings and what looked to be expensive pottery pieces on small antique tables.

"Dude, these people are loaded," Dean commented. "What the hell did Cas get himself into?"

A few seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a teenage boy appeared, a shock of mussed red hair and rumpled clothes told that he had probably been asleep. He wasn't the boy who had been in the video, but Sam figured he had to be the cameraman.

"What do you want?" the teenager asked with a frown of confusion. "My parents aren't home right now…"

"Yeah, well, that's fine; we actually want to talk to you," Dean told him and showed him the fake credentials. The kid looked taken aback.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" he protested.

Sam stepped forward and tried a less abrasive approach. "It's okay, Andrew, you're not in trouble, we just wanted to talk to you about the video you posted last night."

He looked honestly surprised and a little suspicious. "What? Why?"

"Listen kid, it's really important that you tell us where you took that video," Dean said in a no-nonsense voice. Andrew looked at him and gulped.

"Why? It was just some stupid gala my parents dragged me to. I—I know we weren't supposed to take pictures, but Dave and I were just fooling around. I'll—I'll take it down, I swear, just don't arrest me, please!"

"Andrew, no one's arresting you," Sam tried to calm him as Dean gave him a withering look. "In fact, your video might actually have helped us in our investigation. Just tell us where this gala was held. Who was hosting it?"

Andrew shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, man, my parents just love all that ancient collectible stuff. Real weird crap, you know? The house is full of it. They actually believe it was all real." He snorted. "I know those weren't real angels at the party, just paid actors, you know? That Cartwright dude is a real weirdo."

"Cartwright—is that the man who hosted the party?" Sam asked, cutting in when he saw Dean shift to start talking again.

"Yeah, my parents have bought stuff from him before. He's weird though, always dresses in old costumes with a top hat and everything. I don't think he's all there, kinda acts like some spaced out version of Willy Wonka but creepier."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look before Dean cleared his throat. "Alright, so where do we find this Cartwright?"

Andrew shrugged. "I don't know, all I know is it's a bit of a drive. I wasn't really paying attention, just listening to my music and trying to sleep so I didn't have to listen to my parents talk the whole ride there. Like I said, man, I didn't even want to go. I don't know why they had to drag me along."

"Kid, this is a federal investigation, I'm going to need you to cooperate," Dean growled, stepping forward.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, shaking his head before he turned back to Andrew. "You did help us, thanks. We should be able to find him now. Do me a favor and call if you think of anything else." Sam handed him his card.

"Okay," Andrew said, seeming a bit unsure. "Um, what did he do anyway?"

"Illegal imports," Sam said quickly. Andrew snorted.

"And Andrew, take that damn video down," Dean told him.

The kid gulped. "O-okay."

Sam and Dean left the house and made their way back to the Impala.

"I can't believe this," Dean muttered. "Is Cas stuck in some kind of freakin' zoo? A museum piece? What the hell, man? And there are people who collect occult objects and hold galas for them? How douchey can you get?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, Bella seemed to make a business of procuring and selling that stuff, so I guess there have to be people who buy it, right?" A thought struck him and he shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "That…may actually be why the angels' bodies were showing up without wings."

"What do you mean?" Dean snapped as he started the car.

"I mean, there's a good chance that angel wings are profitable occult objects that collectors may want." He felt sick just saying the words.

Dean cursed and gripped the wheel until his knuckles whitened. "We need to get Cas out of there now."

"I know," Sam replied grimly, already pulling out his phone to call Bobby. "But first we need to figure out who this Cartwright guy is."

"Well, hurry up, because I don't think Cas has long," Dean grunted and gunned the Impala back toward their motel.

Sam had to agree on that one.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel woke groggily, his whole body hurting and still twitching from the electric shock. They had really gone overboard with the cattle prod this time. He slowly levered himself up onto his elbows and tasted a coppery tang on his tongue. Upon exploration, he realized he must have bitten himself while being electrocuted and wiped the drying blood off of his cheek. Looking around, he saw he was back in the cage, chained only by his collar again. But he also realized something else.

Lauriel wasn't there.

Panic settled into his chest. He had abandoned her when she needed him most and now it might be too late.

Frantically, he checked inside the leather breastplate he wore and was relieved to find the small set of keys he had stolen from the guard. At least these hadn't fallen out. He was up and looking around the gallery but saw no one else there, so he decided to take a chance.

He leaned out of the bars as far as he could and was just barely able to reach the lock that kept him chained to the wall. It took a few tries at the awkward angle, but he finally managed to free the chain. This he pulled off of his collar and then easily reached through the bars to unlock the cage door. He saw the other creatures watching him as he got out, looking eager, and he nodded to them and said, "I'll be back."

He slipped cautiously across the large gallery and through the smaller room attached to it, and then out into the hall that he knew led down to the basement. He had to duck into a side room once to avoid a maid, but besides that, his journey was uneventful.

Castiel made it to the door that led to the basement and opened it, wincing as it gave a slight screech. He carefully descended the stairs and continued down the passage to the room they had been taken to earlier.

He heard voices ahead and quickly ducked into one of the cells, pressing his back to the other side of the door as he listened to two of the guards talking as they walked down the hall and up the stairs back to the main floor of the house. Castiel stayed in his hiding place for a few more seconds just to make sure they were gone and to listen for more, but he heard nothing and he decided it was safe to continue.

He found the room he and Lauriel had been taken to earlier but when he opened it, no one was in there. He looked around, wondering where else he could look, when another sound caught his attention.

He frowned, listening to the muffled sound, and realized with a pit in his stomach that it was someone sobbing. He swallowed hard and forced himself forward on heavy feet to the double doors that led from the small anteroom.

The smell of fresh blood hit him as soon as he entered and the sound ceased before he was met with a quiet inquiry. "Castiel?"

He couldn't move. He stood there, eyes unable to look away from the scene he was met with and feeling like his legs would give out under him.

Lauriel was strapped face first against a steel table that was tilted slightly upright, and the cause of her distress was obvious as Castiel, horrified, saw the wounds on her back where her wings used to be, the blood seeping down her sides and staining the white dress she wore. A table next to her contained a bloody angel blade, the only thing that would have been able to take her wings. Rage and grief surged through him as he realized they had just left her here, meaning nothing to them now that they had her wings. No one had even bothered to take her off the table.

He finally found his feet again and surged forward, unbuckling the straps that bound her. "Lauriel," he breathed, her pain making his chest ache. She gasped as she slid from the table and he caught her as gently as possible and lowered her to the ground, cradling her in his lap and careful not to let his hands graze her back. She clutched at him weakly, her tearstained face resting against his chest.

"I'm so sorry," was all he could say and that wasn't enough. Not for this.

Castiel held her for a long time, several tears slipping down his own cheeks before she raised her head and looked at him, gripping his arm tightly.

"Castiel, you must help me," she pleaded. "I cannot live like this."

His stomach churned. "Lauriel…"

"No," she said, her voice shaky, but firm. "Tobias will kill me anyway, just like the others. Dispose of my body. Maybe cut out my grace." She choked on a sob. "I would rather it be you. Please, brother."

"I can't," Castiel pleaded, horrified that she would ask that of him.

"Castiel, please, it's all I ask."

Castel felt a stab of guilt through his chest. It was because of him that this was happening, he didn't deserve to be weak right now, and it was true, what had happened to Lauriel was irreversible now. Death would be the only mercy she would get, and it would be kinder at Castiel's hand than Tobias' and especially Zachariah's. It was the least he could do.

He took a deep breath and shifted to reach for the angel blade, propping Lauriel up against his shoulder. "I don't want to do this," he told her.

She mustered a wavering smile. "I know. But I'm glad you're here." She reached up a shaking hand and placed it gently on his cheek. "Thank you, Castiel."

He choked back a sob, kissed Lauriel's cheek, and closed his eyes as he quickly drove the blade through her heart, making it as quick and painless as possible. She gasped and her grace burned out in a flare of light before she went limp in Castiel's arms—no wings to leave ashy marks against the floor. He carefully drew the blade out and let it clatter to the floor, before he settled heavily down, and held Lauriel's body, leaning over to press his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry, sister," he whispered before the tears came uncontrollably and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

That was how Cartwright and the guards found him an indeterminate amount of time later.

"Castiel!" Cartwright's voice snapped through the room. "What are you doing out of your cage? You are being very unreasonable. You must go back where you're meant to be!"

Castiel didn't even look up at them. He just stayed on the floor, clutching Lauriel's dead body to him. Two guards came forward and tried to take her from him, but he only held on tighter. Cartwright wasn't pleased by this at all.

"Drop the body, Castiel! You are going back where you belong! Do not make Simpson and Martin force you."

Castiel snapped, finally raising his head to meet the madman's eyes. "I do not belong here, nor did Lauriel. You are a monster, an abomination; you and all the others like you!"

"You belong to me! It's not right—this is not right!" Cartwright screamed, fists clenching as he strode forward angrily. He snatched the angel blade off the floor and pressed it up under Castiel's chin, Lauriel's blood still slick on the blade, staining his skin.

"Do it," Castiel dared, glaring up at him, his anger making his reckless.

"Get up!" Cartwright screamed before raising the blade and using the pommel to hit Castiel across the face. It connected with his cheekbone and split the skin there, blood trickling down to his chin.

"No. I am not yours," Castiel told him. "I am no one's."

"You are!" Cartwrightscreamed again, getting more agitated and hit Castiel several more times before two of his men silently stopped him and drew him away from the angels while the rest of the guards finally succeeded in extricating Lauriel's body from Castiel. He struggled, but a few rounds with the cattle prod and he was subdued easily enough, to his shame. The right side of his face ached and felt stiff and swollen, his eye was already closing on that side. They hauled him to his feet and dragged him back up to the gallery, Cartwright babbling all the time about the angel being his and that he must do what he was supposed to. Castiel wanted to tell him something biting like Dean might have, but the truth was he didn't have the strength. He had failed Lauriel, gotten her killed, and though he knew he had done the merciful thing, it would be a long time before he forgot the feeling of putting the angel blade through her heart. The look in her eyes when she had begged him to do it. He'd had to kill his brethren in battle while protecting Sam and Dean, but this was different. This had been pointless, and Lauriel's death settled inside of him like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Once back in the cage, they reattached the chain to his collar, but Cartwright wasn't satisfied with just that.

"Make sure he can't get out again. He must stay where he's supposed to be," the madman insisted.

Upon Cartwright's instructions, the guards ran chains with manacles from each side of the cage, securing them around Castiel's wrists and ankles so that he had to stay standing and could only move about a foot in either direction, not enough to get close to any of the locks for picking.

Then, even worse, they took his wings and attached hooks over the arms of them, keeping them spread open in a mockery of Arundel's mounted wings on the wall behind him. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable and demeaning and felt very vulnerable. Castiel was tired of being a spectacle.

To his disgust, Cartwright seemed appeased now, calming down significantly as he looked at Castiel with a pleased smile on his face. He reached through the bars and ran his fingers over Castiel's feathers, which he was no longer able to draw away. "Yes, yes, perfect, that is much better now, isn't it Castiel? Now you can't run away from me again. I do think that I will keep you after all, a permanent addition to my collection. You'll do well enough now. I know you will."

Thankfully, he left soon enough, and Castiel hung his head, no longer pretending his defiance. His muscles shuddered already at the awkward position he was stuck in and he couldn't help but wish for some miracle that would get him out of there.

~~~~~~

Dean and Sam were frantically looking through everything they could find about anyone named Cartwright. Bobby hadn't known anyone off the top of his head, but he said he would look into it too and then all three hunters had started into research.

Dean hated doing research, always had, but there was something odd about researching a person and not some monster. Of course, any man who kept people—okay, he knew Cas was technically not human, but whatever—in cages could easily have been classified as a monster in his book. But he also knew that the quicker they found out who this SOB was, the quicker they could get to Cas and that other angel in the video who he figured was Lauriel. His stomach twisted every time he thought of his friend's situation. He and Sam and studied the video at length, trying to see if there were any clues they could decipher about the location—there hadn't been much else to do the night before—and they had realized both angels had collars on that seemed to be carved with sigils, likely keeping their powers on lockdown. And since Dean knew Cas wasn't at full power anyway, that could only make the situation worse.

His phone rang and he snatched it up as quickly as possible. "Bobby?"

"Yeah, I got your guy," Bobby said, without preamble as Dean switched to speakerphone. "You're looking for an Edgar Cartwright."

"Edgar," Sam muttered to himself. "I saw him in the records, okay, got it. That's great, Bobby."

"Well, not so much," Bobby told them grimly.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.

"Well, this guy ain't exactly a full barrel of monkeys if you know what I mean. Apparently he was the sole heir of a family that came from old money, and inherited the lot when he was only thirteen and his parents died in a car accident."

"So he's rich, so what?" Dean cut in.

"I'm getting to that," Bobby said annoyed. "He was taken in by a distant relative or something and soon after interred in a mental hospital because he suffered, quote 'certain psychosis'." Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Apparently he was always a strange kid, though I can't find any reliable record of what those psychosis are exactly. That stuff is all sealed, and technically isn't conclusive since he was a minor. However, he was released when he turned eighteen because he seemed to mellow out and apparently wasn't dangerous enough to keep in a padded room anymore. That's what the records say anyway, after that I couldn't find much. He seems to disappear off the public record."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said, still searching around the web himself. "The only thing I can find here is a current address which is…about two hours from here."

"Great, let's go," Dean said, already getting to his feet.

"Hang on, idjits," Bobby barked over the phone. "Cartwright is an obsessed lunatic, he ain't gonna just let anyone walk in there."

"Well, I never said I was gonna ask," Dean growled.

"Yeah, and he's probably got alarms and people watching his property, and landing your ass in jail ain't gonna help Cas one bit."

"So what do we do?" Dean demanded. "I'm not gonna let Cas stay there any longer, he's chained in a friggin' cage, like a damned canary, Bobby!"

"I know," Bobby said, voice calming. "But you have to play this right, or it isn't gonna go well. He may invite you in himself if you prove you have something to trade."

Sam huffed. "He's never going to believe us, and we don't have anything to trade, I mean, nothing he would likely want anyway."

Dean paced, trying to think of a plan when one sprang into his head, and even though he hated it, he knew it was their best option. "Guys? I think I have an idea. You're not gonna like it," he leveled his gaze at Sam.

"What?" the younger man asked warily.

"I know someone who could probably get us in there and may have something to trade to boot."

"Dean, what are you thinking?" Bobby demanded over the phone.

Dean took a deep breath and said, "Crowley."

"Balls," Bobby cursed.

~~~~~~~

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Sam grumbled as he finished painting the devil's trap on the road as Dean worked on burying the box of summoning items.

"Yeah, well, we don't really have another choice," Dean told him.

"But Dean, he totally screwed us with the Colt, it didn't even kill Lucifer! How do you know he's not just gonna screw us again, we don't even have leverage!"

"I'll think of something," Dean told him.

"You are not making another deal, Dean!" Sam cried.

Dean closed his eyes. "Sammy, I promise not to do anything stupid, okay? I don't like it any more than you, but if Crowley is our only chance of getting Cas out of there in one piece then I'm gonna take it."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, wanting to argue further but couldn't. He had to agree with that; at the moment, they had no better option than Crowley. He just hoped their decision wasn't going to come back and bite them in the ass.

"Well, well, look who's coming to me for help—again."

Sam and Dean turned around to see Crowley standing just inside the devil's trap, hands in pockets, looking composed and smug as usual. "Hello, boys."

"Nice of you to show," Dean grunted. "Now let's get to business."

Crowley gave him a withering look. "You two, such big heroes, and yet you can't manage to do anything without my help lately, can you? What is it this time that has caused you to come to me as your last and only hope? Don't tell me you lost the Colt again."

"Yeah, for the record that didn't work so well," Sam growled.

"Hey, I don't make guarantees, I just deliver. Can't say I wasn't hopeful." Crowley shrugged. "So come on, spit it out, I don't have all day. Especially since I'm on the radar of every bloody demon now working for Lucifer not to mention the devil himself, since I decided to help you two!"

"Okay, enough of the sob story," Dean cut in. "We need you to help us get into a place."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "A few specifics? What kind of place? Because as much as I would love to aid in your pervy little fantasies, Dean, I really don't think now is the time."

"There's a man: Edgar Cartwright," Sam said.

"Oh, Cartwright?" Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Wondered if he'd ever get on your radar."

"You know him?" Dean inquired. "Why am I not surprised."

"Did some business with him on several occasions. Procured hard to find items. Of course he never knew who I really am. To him I'm just a fellow collector." Crowley shrugged. "So what do you want with crazy old Cartwright? He have something better than the Colt in that collection of his for shiving Satan?"

Sam and Dean shared a glance. "It's personal," Dean informed the demon flatly. "We just need a way in. An artifact or something to offer."

"Oh, personal is it? Well, I'll need to know the value of the item before I can offer you something he would want for it."

Dean hesitated but finally nodded. "It's Cas. He has Cas."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up with delight. "Castiel? Your little pet angel? Well, well, this does make things interesting."

"Yeah, so do you have something we can trade for him or not?" Dean snapped.

"Hold on, sunshine, first we talk price," Crowley told him firmly.

"We're not making a deal with you," Sam said, and pulled the demon-killing knife out where Crowley could see it. "And we can make you comply if we have to."

Crowley tsked. "Easy, Moose. As it turns out, I don't care much about your souls—they'll be worth nothing if Lucifer and Michael manage to take your bodie as vessels. There's higher stakes to be had. So, I'll make a counter offer."

"Great, what is that?"

"If I help you spring dear Cas from his birdcage, you two have to help me stop the last two horsemen, Pestilence and Death."

Sam and Dean stared at each other, frowning. "Okay," Dean said slowly. "We were kind of planning to do that anyway, so what's the catch?"

Crowley heaved a sigh. "No catch, at least none I can foresee at the moment. You see, I want the bastards gone as much as you do, and I can't show my face to stop them because if I do, they'll make me into shoes. However, I know for a fact you will never find them without my help, at least not before they make you into haggis. You two are actually valuable players in this game, so really you have nothing to lose. Besides, your track record stopping War and Famine is rather excellent, if I do say so."

"So we're going to do the dirty work for you, while you sit back and sip margaritas, is that it?" Dean asked.

"Pretty much; I feed you the info you need, you get the job done and I don't have to stick my neck out." Crowley shrugged. "Come on, boys, we're in this together, right? We both want the same thing. Stop the apocalypse and get everything back to normal. I know you want to get Lucifer back in his cage as soon as possible." He glanced pointedly at Sam.

The younger Winchester shifted uncomfortable and turned to his brother. "Dean, I don't know about this," Sam said quietly, dragging the older man a few steps away, an uneasy feeling spreading through him.

"Sam, we need him," Dean replied. "And really, it might be easier to find Pestilence and Death with his help."

"You really trust him?"

"No, of course not," Dean said firmly. "But all I care about right now is getting Cas out of that freak show. And if Crowley's the only way to do that, then so be it."

"Look, I want to get Cas out too, Dean, but if he screws us over again—"

"Then we'll gank his ass too," Dean said firmly and gripped Sam's shoulder. "Come on, like it or not, we need him."

Sam glowered at his brother, but then sighed, caving. "Fine."

"Is that a deal then?" Crowley asked, leaning toward them.

"Not a deal-deal, but we have an agreement," Dean said without leeway.

"Then let me out of this trap and we'll talk about appropriate trade items."

Dean hesitated, but stepped to the side and scraped the demon trap with his boot, breaking it. Crowley nodded his thanks.

"You're going to need something unique to trade for your feather duster," Crowley informed them. "I'm not sure I have the right kind of item close to hand."

"Well, then you better figure out how you can get one, Cas doesn't have a lot of time," Dean growled.

Sam looked down at the knife in his hand. "What about this knife? Or the Colt?"

Crowley shook his head. "He might be interested in the items themselves, but he's hardly going to trade an angel for them. Trust me. He's been after angelic relics for ages, now that he has the genuine article there's not going to be much he will give it up for."

"We don't need to trade the item, we just need a reason to get in there," Dean said. "After that, we can do whatever we need to get Cas out."

"Well, in that case, we can go all out," Crowley said sardonically. "There is something that he might be interested in, at least enough to get his mind off Castiel for a minute."

"What?" Dean asked.

Crowley cast a sideways glance at Sam and the younger Winchester shifted uncomfortably.

"Cartwright has always liked rare oddities of a more organic nature," he said. "I could probably get a meeting with him this afternoon if I told him I had a new freak for sale."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, but Dean didn't seem to see what Crowley was getting at.

"What do you mean? We don't have a freak for sale."

"Yeah, we do," Sam said quietly.

Dean glared at him. "What? No, we don't."

"Dean," Sam shifted uncomfortably. "He means me."

Understanding dawned in Dean's eyes, quickly replaced by anger. "No. No freakin' way. Sam—"

"A boy with psychic powers would tickle Cartwright pink," Crowley said, seeming to enjoy the contention.

"Dean," Sam tried.

"Dammit, Sammy! No!" Dean shouted. He was pacing angrily, running his hands through his hair. "Not gonna happen!"

Sam turned to Crowley. "Are you sure it would get us in?"

"Stop pretending like this is actually an option," Dean growled. "Are you insane?"

Sam ignored him and looked expectantly at Crowley.

"Yes, definitely; in fact, I could call him right now to make sure," the demon told them. "Look, he might want to see the Colt or the knife, but he wouldn't be excited enough about it to get us in today. Maybe next week at the latest, and since you don't seem to want your angel pal in his clutches any longer than need be, this is the quickest way to it."

Sam sighed and turned back to Dean. "Look, I don't like it either, but if this can get us in to see Cas, then I'm willing to do it."

"But he's gonna need to see a demonstration," Dean ground out from between clenched teeth. "And you know what that means, Sam."

"Yes, I do," Sam told him, already nauseous at the thought. "But Dean, Cas will die if we don't get him out. We can't let that happen."

"Dammit, Sammy, I'm not gonna let you drink any more frickin' demon juice," Dean almost pleaded with him. "You're gonna have to detox again…"

"I know," Sam said quietly, eyes wide and pleading with his brother to understand. "But Cas is family, Dean. Tell me you wouldn't do the same if you were in my place." Dean clenched his jaw shut but didn't argue. Sam knew he would have done it in a heartbeat. "You can't always be the one to throw yourself under the bus, Dean. And I won't need much. For once maybe the demon blood will do a good thing." That last part he said mostly for himself. He was scared to death just thinking of drinking more of it. The rift it had caused between him and Dean, just seeing the way his brother looked at him, actually said that he couldn't trust Sam anymore. Though they had gotten past that, it still hurt, especially when he had drunk the blood again when they were fighting Famine. But this time he had control of himself, and he was doing in for a good cause. That was enough for him, but he still needed his brother's blessing on this one because he knew he couldn't do it unless Dean agreed. He straightened his shoulders as he saw Dean's sag in consent.

"Fine," Dean forced out. "But I don't like this."

Sam nodded in agreement, relief that Dean was backing him taking a little of the nervousness away.

Crowley sighed. "Well, are you two going to hug it out or are we going to work on saving your angel?"

"Let's go," Sam told his brother and they headed back toward the Impala.

 


	8. Chapter 8

"This is one of the worst ideas ever, I can't believe we're doing this," Dean grumbled from the driver's seat of the Impala as he drove up the long drive to the gates that protected Cartwright's mansion. He glanced over his shoulder to the demon sitting in the back seat. "I ought to stab you for even suggesting this."

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know, you're programed to protect baby Sammy, blah, blah, blah. Can you stop wingeing for a moment so we can actually do this?"

Sam sat silently in the passenger seat, looking out the window and fiddling uncomfortably with the cuff of his dress shirt. Crowley had insisted he look decent and not 'like a backwoods bumpkin' so the demon had procured the most expensive suit Sam had ever worn, all in black, and forced him to slick back his hair. The closer they got to Cartwright's place, the more he had to agree with Dean that it was a terrible idea, but he was going to go through with it. Cas deserved to know they cared enough to come for him, especially since his angelic brothers and sisters were doing their best to kill him at the moment.

Sam glanced back to Dean and saw his clenched jaw and the tight grip on the wheel. Dean was furious because he had been designated as chauffeur and backup. He had put up a huge fight when Crowley had told him he wouldn't be going in with them, but eventually Sam had gotten him to see sense. If this didn't go well, they would need someone on the outside. Sam knew that was what Dean hated the most, but there was really no other way. He was just glad that Cartwright had wanted to see them so soon.

The gates opened when they got to them, being expected, and Dean drove through them and down the long drive. Sam looked up and saw the approaching mansion.

"Whoa," he couldn't help but say, impressed.

The mansion was sprawling and huge. The main part looked like a typical high-class luxury home, with the molding and the brickwork and tall windows. But to one side, there was a large extension with skylights that could be seen bubbling up on the roof.

"Well this freak definitely has money," Dean said, parking in the circular drive and shaking his head at the fountain in the middle, complete with spitting cupids. He turned off the engine and took a deep breath before turning to Sam. "You sure you're ready for this?"

Sam set his jaw and nodded jerkily. "Yeah. Dean…"

"Oh, here we go," Crowley muttered.

Sam ignored him. "I swear this is the last time I will ever do this."

Dean looked at him for a long time and for a moment, Sam feared he would say something along the lines of 'that's what you said the last time', but he sagged instead and reached out to grip the back of Sam's neck in the familiar, comforting gesture that he always used to use. It was a pleasant surprise and gave Sam just the courage he needed.

"I trust you, Sammy," he said quietly. "Just…just get Cas out of there."

Sam nodded, eyes wet with gratitude before he cleared his throat and turned to Crowley. "Okay, give it to me."

"Not even going to buy me dinner first, darling?" Crowley snarked, but pulled out a knife and cut his wrist, dribbling some blood into a paper cup before handing it to Sam and healing the injury, wiping excess blood up with a handkerchief.

Sam took the cup, his hands trembling and his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent. Despite everything, he still craved it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to fight back the sudden nausea that had settled in his stomach and drank the blood quickly, but not before catching sight of Dean looking away.

It roiled inside of him and he felt the power surging through his body. It wasn't enough to fight demons, but it would be enough to fling a couple items across a table to show he was psychic. Even now, he wanted more, became more aware of Crowley sitting in the backseat—wanting to simply take a knife and cut the demon's throat, drink him dry. But he shoved those urges aside and focused on Cas, thinking of the angel corpses he and Dean had found and determined not to let that happen to their friend. That steadied him and he took a deep breath before feeling Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"You good?"

Sam opened his eyes. "Yeah, I think so." He grabbed a napkin Dean handed him and wiped all traces of blood off his mouth. "Let's do this."

"Finally," Crowley grunted as he got out of the car and looked back at Dean. "I'll ring if we're about to be killed."

Sam nodded once to his brother and had to turn away before Dean's helplessness got to him. He followed Crowley up to the door which was opened before they could even ring the bell by a young woman dressed in a prim maid's uniform, complete with frilly apron.

"Mr. Crowley?" she inquired. "Mr. Cartwright is expecting you. I will show you into the parlor."

Sam refrained from raising an eyebrow as he and Crowley followed the maid through the vaulted hallways, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the entryway.

"Thank you, darling," Crowley told her with a smile.

She opened a door for them and they stepped inside a room that looked like something right out of a Jane Austin novel. Sam almost smirked as he imagined what Dean would have to say about that.

However, he was distracted by the man who stood in the center of the room. He was dressed in a three piece suit that looked more akin to those at the turn of the century than now, though it definitely seemed to fit in well with his décor. He was tall and thin but Sam noticed his eyes first, unable to hide even behind his wire-rim glasses. Edgar Cartwright's eyes were those of an insane man, wide and shining and light blue. The way they lit up as they fell on Sam made the young man blanch and want to run the other direction.

"Crowley! My old friend, it has been too long," Cartwright said, stepping forward and shaking the demon's hand with both of his own. "I was so glad to hear from you today, especially with such an interesting proposition. This is the boy in question?"

"Yes, this is Sam," Crowley said and Sam tried to shrink into himself as much as his height would allow as their attention was turned on him.

"Sam, very good to meet you," Cartwright said and reached out a hand which Sam also took, confused. This…wasn't exactly what he had been expecting, but truthfully, he hadn't known what he had been expecting. "Crowley tells me you are psychic, I have never come across a genuine psychic before. Would you show me what you can do, Sam?"

The man looked like an eager five year old, which only disturbed Sam more. The mania that exuded from his eyes was the sort that could snap in an instant to something else. Sam thought back to what he knew of the psychology of obsessed collectors. They were possessive, and very particular and could be dangerous if they thought their collection was threatened—like a dragon with their hoard. Sam knew already that if this man got it into his head that he was going to put Sam into his collection, he would obsess over it until it happened.

Crowley looked up at him. "Sam, show Mr. Cartwright what you can do."

Sam wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but instead he looked around the room and saw a couple books sitting on a table beside the couch. He was going to use those, but then decided to go for one of the glasses on the sideboard, which held a selection of decanters. He didn't exactly have to be polite about it, after all.

He raised his hand and channeled his powers before flicking his fingers to one side and sending the glass shooting off he sideboard to shatter on the ground.

Cartwright clapped his hands together and exclaimed in excitement. "Oh, yes, yes, this one is very brilliant, isn't he, Crowley? Do something else, Sam, can you levitate something?"

Sam hesitated. He'd only ever used his powers in the heat of the moment, never with any finesse, but with Ruby's training, he probably could manage it. He focused on one of the decanters and tried to force it straight up. It wobbled, but he held it there for several seconds before he let it clatter back to the table. His head was starting to ache; there hadn't been enough demon blood for him to do too much. He really wished they could just end this and get to Cas.

"Spectacular," Cartwright breathed. "I must have him, Crowley, he shall be a splendid part of my collection. Shall we talk price?"

"Of course," Crowley said, smirking at Sam who was feeling like a prize horse at the moment. "While we do, I heard you had a new piece in your collection. I wondered if I might have a look?"

Cartwright's eyes lit up with almost a horrifying light. "Ah, yes, the angel! You must see him, Crowley. He is the most amazing thing."

Sam's stomach turned, his jaw clenching in anger. He opened his mouth, but Crowley shot him a look. "I'm sure." He turned to Sam. "Sam, come along like a good boy. You shall see where you will be staying."

Sam glared at him but followed until Cartwright reached back and gripped his arm, pulling him forward to walk beside him. "You shall be very well taken care of here, Sam. You shall have an honored place in my collection. I have been looking for something like you for a long time."

Sam couldn't think of anything to reply to that so he forced a tight smile and shook Cartwright's hand off as politely as possible.

"I have added quite a few things since the last time you came to visit me, Crowley," Cartwright was saying, amiable enough right now as he pushed through a pair of doors that led to a long room.

"I can tell," Crowley said as they walked down the middle of the room with glass cases full of ancient and occult artifacts on either side of them. Sam couldn't help but be impressed, wondering if there actually was something among all this stuff that could aid in their fight against Lucifer.

"Here we are, my gallery of curios," Cartwright said, spreading his arms before turning to Sam. "Your new home, Sam."

"Great," Sam forced out.

Cartwright didn't seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm as he led them through the huge room and Sam tried to take in all the stuff that was in the cases. Parts of creatures, sometimes whole skeletons of things even he didn't know existed. On any other day, he might have enjoyed spending hours looking at this stuff but he didn't care about any of that right now, he was searching frantically for Cas.

As they got down to the far side of the room, Sam first caught sight of two huge exhibits and then realized with horror there were people in them. Well, a djinn and what he thought might be a vampire anyway, dressed in ridiculous costumes and looking utterly miserable. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Sure, he and Dean had hunted these creatures their whole lives, but there was something about seeing them as if displayed in a zoo that made him sick.

And then he spun around at Crowley's appreciative grunt and saw the other cage.

"This is Castiel," Cartwright said proudly.

Sam's eyes instantly met the angel's but they were both silent. Sam didn't even think he could form words right now, his anger at Cartwright was so great. His stomach turned almost painfully as he looked at his friend, seeing him chained hand and foot in the cage so that he couldn't sit down or rest at all. But even worse were that his wings were hooked to chains too, forced open for display. Even then, Sam couldn't help but think his wings were…amazing. They looked a bit battered, but still his breath caught in his throat at their true magnificence. But he tried to hide it as he clearly saw the shame on Cas' face and instead attempted to give him a look of encouragement.

And then he happened to look up and saw the second pair of wings on the wall, mounted in a glass case. He choked, vomit rising in his throat as he staggered back a step, somehow forcing himself to keep his lunch down. The pain in Cas' eyes when he returned his gaze to his friend told him everything he needed to know.

As Cartwright drew them closer to Cas' cage, Sam saw that there was some blood on the weird Roman style outfit Cas was wearing and one side of his face was battered and bruised. He frowned, but turned back to Crowley who was speaking now.

"My, my, Cartwright, you really have outdone yourself with this one," the demon said, leaning close to the cage. "However did you procure an actual angel?" He reached through the bars and with a sly smirk that only Cas could see, ran his fingers over the nearest feathers. Cas shuddered in fury and revulsion, but didn't say anything and couldn't do more than twitch. Sam glared daggers at Crowley, hands fisting at his sides and wishing he had brought his demon knife. Crowley seemed to get the message and left off, thankfully.

"Oh, it was just as much a surprise to me, but I have a specialist who supplies them. Castiel isn't the first, but I'm thinking of keeping him indefinitely. His wings are too damaged to sell on their own, but I hope they will repair themselves eventually, and then he will truly make a fine addition to my collection of creatures."

"How dare—" Sam started, too furious to stay quiet any longer, but Crowley snapped him a look and mimed shutting up. Sam ground his teeth and turned back to Cas who had slumped in his chains, not even looking at Sam anymore. Sam shot another look at Crowley, trying to get across that they needed to speed this up.

"And who is this specialist, if I may ask?" Crowley inquired.

"Oh, another collector, or more like a procurer of special items," Cartwright said. "Actually, he should be coming by this afternoon. Perhaps you would like to stay and meet with him."

Wait. Sam frowned; something wasn't right about that. He heard chains rattle and looked up at Cas who was staring at him meaningfully, something frantic in his eyes, silently mouthing words behind Cartwright's back. It took Sam a few tries, but he finally got Get out of here!

But before they could make any plans or Sam could alert Crowley, a footman, also dressed in a ridiculous, outdated uniform, came into the room and cleared his throat.

"Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Tobias is here to see you."

"Perfect timing!" Cartwright exclaimed. "Show him in, Harold."

Sam reached out and grabbed Crowley's sleeve, about to tell him they needed to get out of there now, but it was too late. A man dressed in an expensive suit strode into the room with a grin, whipping off a pair of aviator sunglasses as he did.

"Cartwright! Good to see you again." He then turned to the cage and nodded. "Hello, Castiel."

Cas glared at him, but flicked his eyes franticly back at Sam. Sam wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that no matter what, he wasn't going to leave Cas here with whoever this was. If this Tobias was the one who had brought Cas here than he might possibly be the one who was responsible for the deaths of the angels after all. Or at least had had a part to play in it.

"So, you have something for me?" he asked Cartwright.

"Actually, that has already been taken care of," Cartwright said dismissively.

Sam caught the look of grief that passed over Cas' face and frowned, wondering what had happened. And then he realized that there should have been another angel there. Oh.

"Well, I guess we can still have a drink," the man, Tobias, said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hey, who're your friends?"

"This is Crowley," Cartwright said. "He's another collector, he just brought me this fantastic fellow Sam who is a psychic."

Sam knew they were in trouble by the time the man turned to him, eyes widening slightly and a slow grin spreading across his face. "Is he now? How fascinating."

"Perhaps he can give you a demonstration, Tobias," Cartwright said.

"Love to see it," Tobias said. "But first I have to make a call."

~~~~~~~

Dean was sitting out in the Impala just watching the clock. He had known it was probably going to be a bit of a wait, but he was terrible at waiting, especially when his little brother was offering himself up as a museum piece to a madman and his best friend already was the star attraction. One of these days, he would really like their lives to be not so weird and stressful.

It was just about reaching twenty minutes and Dean wondered whether he should make up some excuse to get inside to make sure everything was going okay, when the sound of an engine revving made him turn in his seat to see a bright red Ferrari pull up in the circular drive behind the Impala. Dean narrowed his eyes as he watched a man in an expensive suit and sunglasses get out and head toward the door.

Dean watched suspiciously as he was admitted inside and wondered who that could be.

It was only a few minutes later that a sudden presence sparked his instincts and he spun around to the passenger seat, reaching for his gun.

"Hello Dean, long time, no see."

"Zachariah," Dean snarled, seeing the angel's smug grin and reaching instead for an angel blade. He didn't get that far though, because the angel reached out and smashed Dean's face against the steering wheel.

Dean's vision hadn't even cleared fully before Zachariah suddenly appeared next to his door and wrenched it open before yanking Dean out by the back of his coat and throwing him hard against the ground. Dean grunted in pain, his breath forced from his body as Zachariah stood over him, kicking him in the stomach for good measure.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," he said with a smirk that made Dean want to rip his face off. "Always end up walking right into my traps, don't you?" He reached down and yanked the hunter up by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the hood of the Impala, hard enough to dent her. Dean hissed a silent apology to his baby before Zachariah's hand was around his throat.

"See, I was getting worried I wouldn't be able to find you again, but then, lo and behold, my man Tobias calls me out of the blue and says both Dean and Sam Winchester are visiting his friend, Cartwright. So I decided I had to see this. Besides, I've wanted to pay Castiel a visit for a while. Heard he was a new resident here."

"You sick bastard," Dean ground out. "I knew you were the one who's been clipping the angels' wings. You're not gonna get anywhere near Sam or Cas."

Zachariah raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

He yanked Dean upright and there was the sudden vertigo of angel travel before they were suddenly standing in the middle of a huge gallery. Dean looked around and caught sight of Sam and Crowley standing with the Ferrari man and someone who must have been Cartwright.

"Sam!" Dean tried before Zachariah took the opportunity to slam a fist into his gut with such force it dropped Dean to his knees.

"Zachariah!" Sam ground out, hands turning to fists at his sides.

"What is going on?" Cartwright demanded, a frantic light in his eyes. "Who are you?!" Guards were starting to come into the room.

Zachariah sighed. "I'd rather not have any interruptions right now," he flicked a wrist and all the guards, Cartwright included, slumped to the ground, seeming to be unconscious.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Crowley said and disappeared.

Zachariah kicked Dean in the ribs, making him sprawl out on the ground with a grunt, before he nodded to Tobias who came forward and stood over Dean with an angel blade drawn.

Dean groaned and rolled over so he could see Sam who was glaring at Zachariah, and behind him…

"Cas!" Dean cried, feeling Tobias' hand snag the back of his coat and force him to his knees, angel blade pricking his throat so he wouldn't move.

"Nu-uh, Dean," the man said. "Castiel will have to take care of himself. You have a job to do."

"Oh, bite me," Dean snapped, eyes still glued to Cas and his brother, taking stock of their situation. Sam was unharmed even if he looked royally pissed, but Cas looked miserable and there was blood on the dorky gladiator outfit he was currently wearing. However, his wings—even though Dean was disgusted by how they were being forcibly displayed, the sight of them in flesh and blood instead of just their shadows was something he wasn't going to forget any time soon.

Zachariah looked all too pleased with himself. "Well, fellas, since we're all here, and I have, more of less, a captive audience, I think it would be a good time to chat." He strode over to Castiel's cage and smiled at the captive angel. Cas put on a defiant look but he seemed uncomfortable under Zachariah's scrutiny. "Hello, Castiel. I must say I rather like you all chained up like that, unable to access your grace—what little there is, of course." He looked pointedly at the Winchesters when he said this, making sure they knew exactly the position Cas was in. "The cage actually suits you."

"Get away from him," Sam snarled, taking a step forward.

"Stay!" Tobias snapped and Dean couldn't help the sharp inhalation of breath that escaped him as the angel blade nicked his throat. Sam halted, but his jaw clenched helplessly, gaze flicking between Dean and Zachariah.

The angel strode up to Sam, crowding into his personal space, making Dean tense in need to go to his brother's aid. Zachariah leaned even closer and sniffed at Sam, much to the young man's disgust.

"Mm, oh my," he tsked. "Hitting the demon blood again, Sam? That won't get you any favors."

Dean saw Cas' eyes go wide in horror and perhaps—disappointment? Dean swallowed hard as he wondered if he had looked the same way, even though he knew Sam had drank the blood only for the best reasons.

"Doesn't really matter though," Zachariah said nonchalantly. "It's all water under the bridge really."

"I'm not the one mutilating angels," Sam ground out.

"Oh, I didn't do that myself," Zachariah said. "I didn't even really suggest it. Tobias here was the one who found out that he could turn a profit by selling angels to people like Cartwright. I just told him to get rid of the ones causing the problems and he decided to get creative." He turned to smile at the man holding Dean. "He's my star employee right now—and who says people can't turn around? A few more months of service, Tobias, and you'll be getting your grace back."

The man shifted and bowed. "Thank you, sir."

"How could you do this to your brothers and sisters?" Cas spoke for the first time. His voice rough, anger burning in his eyes. "I thought you wanted something different, not what Zachariah was selling."

Tobias smiled at him. "Well, Cas, I guess you could say I saw the light. There were more ways than one to go about things. Zachariah helped me see that after a while. And really, humanity wasn't as bad as I expected. It does have its perks—especially when one is filthy rich." He winked.

Cas shook his head in wordless disgust, trembling with anger. "I will kill you for this. What you did to them. My friends—"

"Exactly, your friends," Tobias sneered, making Dean want to punch him. "They should have known what they were getting themselves into."

"Alright, enough chatting," Zachariah said. "We need to get to business. Dean," he turned back around to the elder Winchester. "You know what I'm going to ask, right?"

Dean smirked. "Yeah, and you know what I'm going to say, so I think we can cut the crap here."

"One can hope, I suppose," Zachariah said with a shrug. "You sure you haven't changed your mind? After all, agreeing to be Michael's vessel doesn't come without its perks."

"I think I'm good," Dean told him.

"Well if that's the way you're leaning, I can't really make you. Though I can do my damned best to try and persuade you." He flicked his hand at Sam and the younger man folded with a choked-off cry, knees hitting the ground as his hands clutched his stomach. Zachariah watched passively as Dean cursed at him, jerking forward before Tobias yanked him back by his collar and forced his chin up further with the blade.

"Now, Dean, while Sam is busy hemorrhaging over there, why don't we talk terms."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean snarled. "You know, Zachariah, there were a couple times I was gonna say yes, but you know what stopped me?"

"What is that, pray tell?" the angel raised a patronizing eyebrow.

"Well, partly because you're a dick," Dean couldn't help but say. "But mostly because I have people counting on me to stop the apocalypse instead of promoting it. People who gave so much already to this cause that it would be a damn shame if I gave in now." He met Cas' eyes and even Sam looked up at him, relief and gratitude showing past the pain.

"It's a nice sentiment," Zachariah said with a fake sigh. "But unrealistic. I don't understand why you are so stubborn, Dean. This is the chance of a lifetime. Are you really willing to watch millions of innocents die when you know you could stop it from happening?"

"What I know, Zach, is that millions are gonna die even if I do say yes. Maybe more. Maybe I say yes and Lucifer still wins, and then what? Michael has no guarantee of winning this war; the way I see it, it's a fifty-fitfy chance and I'm not sacrificing everything on that. No way in hell."

Zachariah nodded thoughtfully. "Hell is an interesting point, Dean. It would be so easy to send you back until you became more complaint. But I don't think that will be necessary. I know how to really get to you." He turned back to Sam and clenched a fist, causing him to whimper and choke up blood.

"Sammy, hold on," Dean said helplessly.

"Leave them alone, Zachariah," Cas ground out. "It's me you really want."

Zachariah was still facing Dean but a smile came over his face that the hunter didn't like one bit. "You know, Dean, I'm surprised you would come all this way just to save a fallen scrap of filth like Castiel. I mean, he can't even really do anything, he's fallen so far now. Soon he'll be no better than human, and probably a weak one at that. I don't see why you bother keeping him around, he's absolutely no use to you whatsoever."

The look of self-doubt and shame on Cas' face made Dean's blood boil. "I know a jackass like you wouldn't understand this but Cas is family. And angel or not, we would always come for him because that's what family does."

Zachariah shook his head at this and turned to Cas. "Such sweet sentiments, Castiel, but at least they appreciate what you did for them. I suppose there's something to be said for that. Although, I must admit, there was a part of me that wished they would simply cast you away like the worthless rag you are. I mean, look at you, you're not an angel any more. You're really nothing but their bitch. You'll realize that one day, and Heaven won't take you back when you come crawling to us."

"Don't listen to him, Cas," Dean snarled, seeing the self-hatred enter Cas' face.

"However," Zachariah said, stepping toward the door of the cage. "If they really do care about you, perhaps you could be useful after all. We'll see if your impending demise can get a little yes out of Dean. After all, there's no chance of you coming back a second time, is there?" He stepped inside the cage and over to Castiel, touching his feathers as he went. Cas tried to shrink away, but still couldn't move.

"Don't you dare, Zachariah!" Dean shouted, yanking at Tobias' grip and managing to slice his neck further on the blade.

"Relax, you'll have plenty of time to make you decision." Zachariah told him, smiling down at Cas. "I'm going to take my own sweet time with this." He punched Cas in the stomach and then kept punching, beating the captive angel mercilessly with hammering blows. Dean shouted worthless demands that fell on deaf ears as Tobias made sure he stayed still.

Finally Zachariah stopped the beating and gripped Cas' chin, roughly yanking his face upward while the lesser angel sagged and trembled in his chains, breathing heavily. "See, Castiel? Pathetic."

Cas clenched his jaw, meeting the other angel's eyes. "Maybe I am. But at least I still believe in something, Zachariah. And at least I'm not a petty, selfish bastard like you." He spat a gob of blood, which landed on Zachariah's chin. Dean could have cheered, feeling a sense of brotherly pride engulf him.

"That's my boy," he muttered, grinning fiercely.

Zachariah slowly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his face, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle. "You really shouldn't have done that, Castiel." His angel blade was out now, and he swiftly cut the straps of the leather breastplate Cas was wearing, throwing it to one side and tearing his tunic open to the waist.

"I could play nice," Zachariah said casually as he slashed the blade across Cas' chest, causing the angel to cry out. "I mean, I really can. But you make it so fun not to." He grabbed a fistful of Cas' hair and yanked him forward as he dug the blade into Cas' side. A growl that ended in a scream was ripped from Cas as Zachariah yanked the blade out, spattering red droplets everywhere.

"Stop it!" Dean demanded, wincing as Cas sagged in his chains, the hooks in his wings pulling painfully.

"Of course, where are my manners," Zachariah said. "Sammy must be feeling left out."

"No!" Dean cried but Zachariah waved a hand at Sam again and there was a sickening snap before he screamed and cradled one arm to his chest.

"I'll keep breaking bones until you say yes, Dean," Zachariah said.

"Don't touch them!" Castiel growled. "Torture me if you want, but leave Sam alone."

"Gladly," Zachariah said. "In fact, let's see about these wings, shall we?" He walked behind the captive angel and ran a hand over the forcibly spread wings. Cas closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Hell no, Cas, don't let him do anything to you, it's not worth it!" Dean tried but only got Tobias' angel blade pressed further into his windpipe.

Zachariah tsked. "Look at the state of these. Horrifying. Have you told Dean about that? No? Let's educate him, shall we?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to meet Cas' gaze but his friend wouldn't look at him. "Cas…"

"See, Dean, see how battered these look? Feathers out of place, the edges moth eaten? That's what happens when an angel fights his way through hell." Zachariah smiled as Dean wasn't able to hide the pain in his eyes. Cas still wouldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Should we tell him more?" Zachariah leaned in close to Castiel who shrugged him off as well as he could.

"Enough, Zachariah," he said pleadingly, pain clear in his voice.

The higher angel ignored him. "See, his wings were burned and battered getting you out of hell, Dean. And it's not just superficial either. It hurt him, it was agonizing. And after all of that, he still fell for you and your cause." Zachariah shook his head. "I don't know if Cas is loyal of just plain stupid." He shook the angel with another deprecating chuckle.

Dean swallowed hard, his chest aching as he looked at Cas' battered wings in a new light. How much worse had they been before? They looked like they had healed a bit, but he wondered if they had stopped healing now that he was cut off from heaven, that maybe they would never get any better than this.

"Not pretty enough for Cartwright's collection, were they?" Zachariah said, tracing his blade down Cas' spine, making him arch his back away from it. "Not like Lauriel's."

Cas flinched and Dean saw sadness cross his face. "Her death is on your head, Zachariah," he gritted out.

Zachariah leaned into him, mouth pressed close to his ear as Cas leaned away with disgust, but Dean could still hear what he said. "I think we both know that's not true, don't we, Castiel."

Cas closed his eyes and Dean thought for the millionth time that day how much he wanted to cut Zachariah's heart out.

"Now, now, Cas, let's not dwell in the past, you couldn't possibly have stopped her death, just like you couldn't stop Sam from being an abomination. Just like you won't be able to stop Dean from saying yes. But you know what? I think I'm going to let you live for a while, just so you can see everything you rebelled for and believed in be taken away from you. First though, I think these wings need to go. I mean, it's not like they're going to be much use to you for much longer, am I right?"

"Zachariah, don't," Cas said softly.

"No!" Dean yelled, pushing forward, trying to get off his knees, but Tobias forced him back down without a word.

"Come on, Castiel, it will be better this way. Hey, maybe I'll just make you a good little pet. I do like you on a leash. Now, here's how it's going to go." Zachariah put his hands together in a reasonable gesture. "I'm going to start cutting, and you aren't going to try anything or Tobias will stab Dean in the gut."

"Hey," Dean grunted as he was suddenly yanked to his feet, Tobias' arm around his neck as his blade came to rest under Dean's ribs.

"He'll be in agony, but he'll bleed out nice and slow so he'll have plenty of time to say yes to Michael, while he listens to you scream as I saw off your wings."

"Cas! Don't worry about me, just fight him, you hear?" Dean called frantically, taking a step forward.

Tobias dug the blade into Dean's belly, causing a trickle of blood to flow. Dean had had enough. He wasn't going to watch while Cas got his wings cut off.

"Hey, Tobias," he said.

"What?" the ex-angel grunted.

"I think you've forgotten something with all your soft cushy living."

"Oh, yeah, and what is that?"

"That you're just human, and I'm better at it than you." He quickly canted to the side and slammed a fist right into Tobias' groin. The ex-angel yelped and Dean grabbed the arm that was around his neck and expertly flipped the man, gripping the wrist he held the angel blade with and ignoring the slice he got to his ribs for the trouble. He kicked Tobias' wrist and heard a crack, making the ex-angel scream in agony and release the blade, which Dean then used to knock Tobias unconscious.

Dean watched dispassionately as the man fell limp then kicked him in the ribs for good measure, before turning to Zachariah.

"Now we can talk terms, Zachariah," he said, striding toward the cage. "But this time, they're mine."

 


	9. Chapter 9

Zachariah chuckled, which only made Dean bristle more. "I'm sorry," the angel said, still laughing. "This is just utterly ridiculous. You really think you have any hold over me?" He nodded to Sam who was still moaning on the ground, blood dripping past his teeth. "I mean, really, Dean, I expected more from you. I hold all the cards here, and you have nothing." He grabbed a fistful of Cas' hair and wrenched his head back to expose his throat, placing the blade against his bobbing Adam's apple.

Dean tried to remain calm, staring Zachariah down with more confidence than he felt since he knew the angel was right, that he was just pulling this out of his ass, but that was what he was best at.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't get ahead of yourself, Zach. You know I'm the key to everything. You know I'm the only one who can give you what you need, so if you want me to cooperate, you're going to listen to me."

"Dean—" Cas started, but Zachariah yanked up on his hair, making him gasp and bringing him to his toes.

"See, I'm guessing that after our little escape from Heaven you weren't the top employee anymore," Dean said, watching Zachariah's features and seeing exactly what he was looking for. A twitch of anger in his cheek. He smiled. "I mean, you had us right where you wanted us and we slipped away. Again. This is starting to be a pattern isn't it? Your bosses can't be happy."

"You little maggot," Zachariah said. "Don't presume you know how to do my job."

"Oh, I don't," Dean told him with a shrug. "I just think you're overcompensating and angry. I mean, really, Zach. Spending all that time hunting down Cas' garrison just to get back at him instead of looking for us? That can't be your top priority. That just smacks of a petty need for vengeance, pretending to do something so you would feel better about yourself, am I right? But really. You didn't even do that, did you? You sent a human angel to do all your dirty work." He nodded to the unconscious Tobias. "I mean, you have to admit, Zach, that's just sad."

Zachariah's grip on Cas tightened, blood dripping from a cut on his neck. "What are you trying to get at, you insufferable little pissant?"

"You're desperate, Zach, admit it," Dean told him. "You need me to say yes, because it's your job on the line if I don't and you know it. My cooperation is the only thing on the line, so if you think about it like that, I hold all the cards. So, here's how it's going to go," Dean nodded to Sam and Cas as Zachariah fumed. "You put Sam back together, you let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."

"Dean no!" Cas cried, before Zachariah shut him up by slamming the pommel of his blade into the captive angel's ribs. Cas folded with a strangled yelp.

"Let them go, and I'll say yes," Dean said louder, fist clenching at his side.

"D-Dean," Sam's soft pleading voice nearly tore his heart out, but he wasn't going to look over at him. They would all understand in a minute anyway. He kept his gaze on Zachariah.

The angel sneered at him. "How do I know you'll say yes?"

"Because I know that if I don't, you're going to kill them, and I can't let that happen." Dean tried to put all the emotion he could into the words, hoping Zachariah would buy it. As if Zach wouldn't kill them anyway, no matter what he said.

"Dean, you can't," Cas panted out. "I won't let you."

Zachariah wrapped a hand around Cas' throat. "You are in no position to stop anyone, Castiel." He turned back to Dean. "You know, I may need a little collateral of my own. Maybe I should cut one of Cas' wings off just to make sure you're not playing me."

Dean stepped right up to the bars, staring at Zachariah. "You do that, and I will never say yes."

"Then I'll cut them both off and you can re-evaluate your decision while you listen to him scream." He ran the blade through Cas' feathers the wrong way and the angel winced as they stood up at odd angles. "Have you ever really heard an angel in pure agony, Dean? I guarantee you won't forget it."

"Zachariah, I swear to God, if you touch him I will put this blade through my own heart and when you come looking for me in heaven, I will be ready and I will end you." He clenched his jaw. "I am offering you what you want, now take the dammed offer while it's still on the table, because one more hair or feather you harm on Sam or Cas, is one more way I'm gonna make you suffer when I have you all alone and at my mercy. And Zach, it will happen, I promise you that. And when it does, remember that I spent ten years in hell as Alastair's apprentice and that I will find a way to make an angel scream in pure agony."

Zachariah looked like he was about to smite Dean himself, but he finally nodded. "Okay, fine, give me the yes then."

"No way, I don't trust you." Dean said firmly. "You get out of that cage, and get that knife off of Cas and then you heal them."

"Sam I can," Zachariah said. "But Cas is blocked with those sigils and only Tobias knows how to get the collar off."

"Zachariah, I'm warning you…"

"Dean, it's alright," Cas cut in. "I'm fine. Just let him heal Sam."

Dean's jaw ticked, but he agreed. "Fine. Do it."

Zachariah stepped out of the cage and walked over to Sam's crumpled form, touching his forehead. Sam tensed and gasped, then fell limp, but he wasn't coughing up blood anymore, just panting and trembling. The angel turned to Dean then.

"Okay, I met your terms, it's your turn now."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I forgot, there was another one I failed to mention."

Zachariah stepped forward impatiently. "What might that be?"

Dean smirked at him. "You see, I know you won't let them live no matter what, so there's only one thing that will keep them safe. Your death."

Zachariah stepped forward angrily to grab him, obviously thinking he was going to come out on top of this, but Dean whipped up the angel blade he was carrying and slammed it up under the angel's ribs. Zachariah stopped cold, mouth open in shock as he gasped. Dean twisted the blade to get it deeper and finally hit his heart, causing sparks to fly out of his mouth and eyes as he exploded with a shout of anger. His body slumped to the ground and Dean released the blade, still stuck in him and waved away some of the burned feathers flying around in the air. Finally, he looked over at Sam who was leaning on one elbow, watching his brother in shock.

Dean didn't say a word, just went over and helped Sam to his feet, propping him against one of the display cases so he wouldn't fall.

"You…you killed him," Sam said quietly, still seeming dazed.

"Yeah, well, he had it coming," Dean shrugged.

A small groan was heard and Sam's head snapped up. "Cas!"

He and Dean hurried to the cage where their friend was still suspended by the chains.

"Key?" Dean asked, bewildered by all the manacles.

"One of the guards would have it," Cas replied roughly, nodding to the guards Zachariah had knocked unconscious when he had gotten there. Dean quickly went over to rifle through their pockets while Sam worked on unhooking Cas' wings. Dean finally found the key, flipping the guard over onto his back then went back to the cage, kicking the unconscious Cartwright in the ribs as he did.

"Okay, let's get you out of here," the hunter told Cas as he climbed back into the cage. "How are you doing, Sam?"

"Working on it," the younger man said, trying to remove the hooks from Cas' wings as gently as possible.

The angel gritted his teeth and groaned as his wings were released. Sam met Dean's eyes over Cas' shoulder and swallowed hard.

"How do they feel?" Sam asked Cas quietly.

"Sore and stiff," Cas said, his voice even more gravely that usual.

"May I?" Sam asked him, hovering a hand over the limbs of the wings where the hooks had dug into the feathers and wrenched them out of their normal positions.

"Yes, thank you," Cas said quietly and Sam ran shaking fingers through the feathers, trying to straighten them as best as he could while Dean worked on releasing Cas' manacles. He started on Cas' ankles, then in disgust, released the chain on the collar he wore, before finally releasing the ones around his wrists. Cas sagged and almost fell when those were released, but Sam and Dean caught him, both awkwardly trying to keep their friend up without getting in the way of his wings. Cas grunted and folded the appendages tightly against his back.

"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly, then looked over at Dean. "Dean. I…I…you didn't have to come for me, but I am grateful you did."

Dean's throat tightened at that. "Cas, you're family. Of course we'll always come for you."

"But Sam, why would you drink the demon blood?" Cas asked him, his voice pained. "I would never ask you to do that."

Sam swallowed hard and looked down. "I did what I had to. I don't want you to feel guilty for it, Cas."

The angel shook his head but didn't say anything else. Dean cleared his throat and slipped an arm around his lower back under his wings to guide him out of the cage. "Come on, buddy. Let's wake up Tobias and see if he can't get this damned collar off of you. And then find your trench coat—you look like a complete asshat in that."

Cas huffed. "I feel like one too. I don't understand why humans have such odd concepts of what angels are supposed to look like." His gaze fell on the unconscious Cartwright and a small shudder went through him, catching Dean's attention. "Humans can indeed be strange. It is not always a good thing."

Dean decided they would have a talk about this later; for now he would just appease himself by stepping on Cartwright's hand as he passed. He turned to Sam who had a strange look on his face as if he knew what Cas was talking about and then he shook it off. "I'm, uh, going to go see if I can find Cas' clothes," the younger man said.

"Check the basement," Cas said then groaned as Dean settled him onto a bench as Sam nodded and went off.

"You okay?" Dean asked, bracing a hand on his shoulder and anxiously glancing down at the cuts and bruises on Cas' torso and the still bleeding stab wound in his side.

"I'll live," Cas said tiredly. "The collar is binding my grace. Not that there's much left to heal myself with anyway."

Dean knelt next to Tobias and slapped him. It took several tries but the ex-angel finally woke up, cringing and whimpering in agony as he clutched his broken wrist to his chest. He looked around and his eyes widened with fear as he saw Zachariah lying dead nearby.

"Hey there," Dean told him and yanked him into a sitting position by the front of his shirt. "Yeah, we won while you were taking a nap. Now you're going to help me get this collar off of Cas and if you do what you're told we'll let you go."

"You killed Zachariah," Tobias said in horror.

"He was a dick," Dean shrugged then snapped his fingers in front of the ex-angel's face to get his attention back. "Hey, collar off Cas. Now."

Tobias gave him a withering glare but it was not without fear. He grunted as Dean hauled him to his feet and pulled him toward the wounded angel. Tobias and Cas stared at each other for a long time before the ex-angel finally huffed and brought a hand up, speaking a couple verses in Enochian before he touched the collar and it snapped open. Cas quickly ripped it off and threw it aside. He stood slowly, his wings shimmering and disappearing back to the ethereal plane before he stared at Tobias.

"I would kill you if enough angels hadn't already lost their lives over this," he said darkly, causing Tobias to swallow hard. "As it is, I think you should live your life afraid, like they did, no longer an angel, and yet, not really human either. Never knowing whether someone, like me, may show up and end your miserable existence."

Dean's eyes widened slightly, thankful, not for the first time, that Cas was on their side.

Sam came back in with Cas' clothes and the angel gratefully took them and slowly started to pull his pants on under the dorky tunic. Dean frowned, seeing that Cas must really be weak if he couldn't even mojo his clothes on.

He then looked up at Sam and saw his eyes sunken and bright, sweat pricking his brow. Dean swallowed hard. Zachariah may have healed the damage he did to Sam's body, but he had made sure he left the demon blood in his system and it was already burning out into the withdrawal stage.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Sam asked, nodding to Tobias who was sitting on the bench Cas had vacated, cradling his broken arm.

"Let him go," Dean muttered.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"If he tries anything we'll find him." Dean looked up at him again, seeing Sam's eyes travel to Cartwright's figure, who seemed to finally be stirring. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam shook himself. "It's just…he was so determined to put me on display. Didn't even seem to think I was human. To him I was just a museum piece. A freak."

"Sammy, dude's a psycho, don't take it too personally," Dean said gently, and looked over at the other exhibits, the djinn and vampire watching anxiously from behind the glass. "What the hell are we gonna do with all this crap?"

Cas came over to them, looking a little more like himself with his trench coat and tie in place, though askew as usual, but Dean didn't miss the spots of blood already seeping through his shirt, as Cas adjusted his coat. Looks like they were going to have to fix him up by hand. Dean's first instinct was the gank Cartwright right there for what he had done to his family, but with so many witnesses…probably not the best idea. Unfortunately.

"Okay, we're out of here," Dean said decidedly and turned to Tobias. "You're going to do one more thing for us."

"What?" the ex-angel sighed.

"Call the police and tell them Cartwright went mad and started attacking everyone here. Tell him that's how Zach died, and how you were hurt. Hopefully he'll be back in the loony bin before too long." He turned to Sam and Cas. "Alright, let's get out of here. Place gives me the creeps."

"Wait," Cas said and went over to the other exhibits to release the djinn and vampire. "Go," he told them.

"Thank you!" they said and ran as fast as they could.

Cas turned to the side. "I—I need your help. I can't leave Arundel's wings here, or the grace and angel blades."

Sam nodded sharply and he and Dean went to help collect all the things.

By that time Cartwright was stirring and he groaned, looking around at the carnage that had been his most prized possessions.

"No! What is going on?" he demanded trying to climb to his feet.

Dean turned and strode over to him, grabbing the front of his coat and yanking him to his knees. "Listen up, asshat. Your freak show is officially disbanded. You should be going away to a nice padded cell soon and you better hope you never get out or I will make it my personal mission to end you. Got that?" Then, he slammed a fist into his nose and Cartwright slumped back with a cry.

"Come on, let's blow this joint," Dean told his companions and they left Tobias with the floundering Cartwright who was probably going to look insane enough to sell the story by the time the police showed up.

"Nonono," they could hear him muttering as they beat a hasty retreat. "No! My curios! My angel! They're mine, you can't take them! This is not right, it's not right!"

Dean slammed the front door and they piled into the Impala, Cas only barely masking the pained grunt as he slid inside after helping Dean load Arundel's severed wings into the trunk. They were out of the driveway and down the road just in time to miss the police coming the opposite direction.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Cas slumped with his eyes closed and then turned his gaze to Sam who was leaning heavily against the door. He shook his head. "I don't know about you guys, but I am never going to a museum again."

Castiel grunted in agreement. Sam shivered and Dean looked over at him with increasing worry. "Hey, hold on, kiddo, we're going to get back to Bobby's."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, it's too far away. It will be too late. We need to stop somewhere."

Dean set his jaw but nodded reluctantly. "Fine, we'll find an out of the way motel somewhere to crash." He was actually glad, he was exhausted and Cas needed his wounds taken care of anyway.

"Sam," Cas said quietly but the younger Winchester shook his head and turned to smile at Cas.

"I don't regret it, Cas. Just, I'm glad it worked."

Cas didn't seem convinced, and slumped against the seat, a hand under his jacket pressed to his wound as his eyes slid to half-mast. Yeah, they were definitely a class act right now.

Dean drove for only about half an hour down the highway out of town. That was far enough away that they wouldn't be implicated, and Sam's increasing discomfort and knowing Cas wasn't much better even if he wasn't showing it, caused Dean to pull into the first exit they came across and find a crappy motel on the edge of town where they could hole up in relative privacy for the coming night.

Sam instantly took a quick cold shower when they got into the room, but it did little for him and he was shaking so much that he just barely got his sleep clothes on before collapsing onto his bed, curling into a shuddering ball.

"Sam," Cas said, his brow furrowed with pain as he sat on the side of the bed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You should not have done this for me."

"You'd have done the same," Sam got out, clapping a hand to Cas' knee before he twitched and clenched his fists into the sheets. "Dean."

Dean swallowed hard and went over to his little brother, gripping his shoulder tightly, before rubbing his back—chick flick moments be damned—making sure he showed Sam that he wasn't cutting him out for what he had done. "Sammy, hey, you're gonna be okay."

Sam huffed. "Yeah, I know. Not like I haven't done this before."

"Is there anything we can do?" Cas asked him, sounding as helpless as Dean felt.

"You're gonna have to tie me down like last time," Sam told them.

Dean's jaw tightened but he nodded resignedly. "I know, Sammy. I'm sorry."

"Just do it, it's getting worse. I'll probably be delirious soon." Sam shuddered under Dean's hand and the elder hunter shared a look with Cas before he stood and went to grab his duffle bag, taking some rope out.

"Sam," Cas told him. "No matter what Zachariah said, you are not an abomination. You did this for a noble reason, and there is no shame in that."

Sam gave him a watery smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thanks, Cas."

Dean swallowed hard before he held up the rope. "You gotta pee first?" he raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the situation a little.

Sam huffed a laugh. "I'm fine, just…please hurry."

Dean carefully wrapped Sam's wrists and ankles with the motel towels so the rope wouldn't cut into him, and then he proceeded to tie his brother hand and foot to the bed—not for the first time—while Cas sat beside him and kept an encouraging hand on Sam's shoulder.

By the time he had finished, Sam was no longer lucid and twitched almost constantly, whimpering in the back of his throat. Dean still held on to the hope that because he hadn't taken so much blood this time that his withdrawal period wouldn't last as long, but it would probably make no difference. If that was the case, they were in for a long, sleepless night.

So he did the only thing he could and he turned to Cas. "Let me see your injuries."

"Dean, they will heal eventually, you don't need to concern yourself," the angel said, sounding tired as he slumped down on the couch that had been part of the suite Dean asked for.

"Yeah, eventually, but not instantly anymore, and meanwhile you're still bleeding, so that means you don't get to argue—that's a rule Sam and I always keep."

Cas seemed to see what Dean really needed though, and that was something he could fix. The angel's eyes rested briefly on the tossing, moaning figure in the bed, and sighed. "Very well."

Dean got the first aid stuff out while Cas shrugged out of his trench coat and then slowly unbuttoned his shirt, wincing as he pulled it away from his injured side. Dean knelt in front of the couch and efficiently set to work, cleaning out the wounds and then seeing if any should have stitches. While none of them were particularly bad, though the stab wound would be painful as well as the cracked rib he had found when probing the bruises, the thing that worried Dean the most was that even the superficial scratches and welts on Cas' face from the beating Zach had given him hadn't really healed at all. Dean wondered how much grace Cas really had left. And then he saw spots that looked like burn marks on his sides under his ribs and Dean eventually recognized them as the type of marks left from a taser or cattle prod. Anger boiled up in him as he thought of Cartwright or his lackeys putting that leash on Cas and calling him to heel like a dog.

He was brought from his dark musings when Cas hissed and instinctively grabbed his wrist when he applied some whisky to his wound to clean it.

"That hurts," the angel said, sounding almost surprised.

"I know, but it's better not to test out whether or not you can get an infection now while you're so low on power."

Cas grunted noncommittally and slumped back against the couch, trying not to wince while Dean put several sutures into the stab wound. He could feel how Cas' body was tense with pain and knew it wasn't normal. How much grace did their angel have left? He couldn't help but admit that Zachariah's words had stung him because he knew they were true. He and Sam had been the ones to make Cas fall. Maybe he'd had the ideas before but they were the ones who had pushed him and now look at the state he was in.

"Cas," he said, busy tying off a suture before reaching for the scissors to snip it.

"Yes, Dean?" came the tired reply.

He was silent a moment, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to. "I…I never knew, you know, about your wings. I'm sorry you were injured."

Cas' shoulders twitched slightly as if adjusting his wings. "I knew it would not be easy getting you out of hell, I knew the risks. I don't regret it, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean grunted, anger at himself making him pull the current stitch a little tighter than usual, which made Cas hiss. He apologized. "You have every reason to. I mean, I screwed up, big time, and I'm not doing anything that I'm apparently supposed to. You got your wings burned for nothing."

"Not for nothing," Cas said firmly. "Dean, you and Sam are an inspiration. You are fighting a war alone against countless enemies who outnumber and outgun you and yet you still haven't caved. How many people would have that kind of conviction? I have been around a long time, Dean, and trust me, there are not many. So maybe you're not doing what was expected of you when I pulled you out of hell, but in the end, the result will be the same. You are here to save the world. But that's not all of it, not anymore." He shook his head. "You said you came for me because I was family, Dean. Sam drank demon blood just to help get me out of there, and yet you still have a hard time seeing that I don't regret pulling you out of hell." Dean looked down but Cas reached out to grip his shoulder. "You are my friend, Dean, my family, I would do it again, as I know you would if our positions were reversed."

Dean was quiet for a long time before he nodded. "Okay then. Well, you're stuck with us now so, I'm glad you feel that way."

"I don't have many friends left." Cas' voice was sad and Dean cast a quick glance up at him, seeing him staring off into the distance. "I never expected that my actions would have an impact on my garrison. And now I only have more deaths on my head. Lauriel…her blood even on my hands."

Dean looked up as he finished the stitches and bandaging. He didn't know the whole story, didn't want to ask unless Cas was willing to broach the subject, but he knew it had been hard on his friend. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said quietly, knowing it wasn't enough, not by a long shot, but it was all he could offer. "But, man, you can't keep blaming yourself. If I've learned anything about being a hero it's that you're continually sacrificing everything you care about. No one safe." He glanced over at Sam and swallowed hard. "But you have to keep swinging because you're still needed."

"I understand. But someday I would just like to find peace, Dean," Cas said softly.

"Wouldn't we all." Dean stood and packed the first aid stuff back up before looking over at Sam. He was tossing restlessly but he hadn't started screaming—yet. Dean knew it was just a matter of time.

"Dean?"

Dean turned back around as Cas was testing out comfortable positions on the couch, easing himself down with a wince.

"Yeah?"

"Back there when you were talking to Zachariah, were you ever actually planning on saying yes?"

Dean took his time to answer that, pulling a blanket from his own bed and tossing it to the angel. "No." Then he felt he had to add, "Not that time."

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "But you have thought about it?"

"Hell, Cas, of course I have." He sighed and sat at the foot of Sam's bed, bending over to take off his boots. "There are some days when I just want all of this to be over and think, hey, if Michael jumping my bones can do that, then I'm in. But I don't and you know why? Because then I would fail you and Sam and Bobby—everyone I care about. I think about Ellen and Jo, how they died because some stupid angels couldn't get along and know that no matter how the fight went between Michael and Lucifer no one, none of us humans, would ever really win. So really, isn't the only answer just stopping it, all of it, before it gets that far?"

Cas gave him a look that Dean couldn't quite read and nodded, exhausted, but looking somewhat relieved to hear that.

They were silent for a long time before Sam started screaming, hallucinating all kinds of horrors apparently from what he was yelling, things Dean didn't even want to think about, but he stayed with him the whole time, as did Cas.

Miraculously they made it through the night without anyone trying to find out what all the noise was about and Sam calmed to an exhausted sleep by the early morning. Dean gave the other bed to Cas because the angel looked exhausted and he curled up on it, asleep within only minutes. Dean on the other hand, opted for pulling a chair over to Sam's bedside and just sitting there, watching his brother and the angel sleep. His body wanted him to sleep too, but he couldn't, not tonight. Tonight he was just glad that everyone was relatively fine, and that was enough.

~~~~~~~

The next morning, Cas woke to sunlight trying to make its way through the blackout curtains on the windows and Dean talking quietly to Sam as the younger man groaned. He opened his eyes and pushed himself upright, wincing as his body protested. This was a relatively new feeling, this new weakness, the lingering pain of injuries even as superficial as bruises. He knew instantly that his wounds hadn't healed yet, though he could feel his grace working on it now, if sluggishly. He just needed so much more these days to keep his vessel running, and his grace was still stretching itself so to speak after being bound for so long. Hopefully it would be a little better within a couple days. Though, really, how much longer was it going to be there at all?

Pushing his own problems aside, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched as Dean gently started untying his brother.

"Don't worry, kiddo, I'll have you out of here soon," he said, reaching out to push Sam's hair from his forehead. He looked up to see Cas sitting there. "Hey, how you feeling, Cas?"

"Not the best," the angel replied honestly. "But better just being out of that cage."

Dean's jaw tightened and he nodded. "Yeah, I can imagine."

Sam's eyes opened and he turned to Cas as the angel crossed to the other bed and sat down. "How are you, Sam?" he asked.

Sam moaned, rubbing his eyes with a freed hand. "Ugh, our lives suck."

Dean chuckled and Cas smiled slightly too.

"Yeah, you got that right, Sammy," Dean said.

Later, when Sam could get out of the bed, they hit the road, heading toward Bobby's house. The older hunter had called that morning and chewed them out for not updating him on what had happened. Dean had assured him tiredly that everyone was okay and that he would tell him the full story when they got there.

They drove for a long time in silence, everyone exhausted, until Sam finally turned around to face Cas and asked, "Cas, what are you going to do with Arundel's wings?"

Cas felt his chest tighten at the thought, but he knew the question was valid. He sighed. "I'm going to contact my garrison, someone I know I can trust this time, and have them take them, and the grace back to heaven."

Sam nodded and then furrowed his brow in that sympathetic way he had. "Are you…you know, okay?"

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror briefly, but seemed to decide to stay out of this. Cas took a deep breath, still trying to muddle it out himself. Was he really okay? Would he ever be? "I am getting there, Sam. So many things have happened lately, but I am willing to keep fighting if you are."

"Hell yes," Dean said firmly. "Team Free Will."

Sam nodded and Cas silently agreed. Their road might be a long and bloody one, but at least they had each other.

~~~~~~~

The next day Castiel called a couple of his brothers and explained to them what had happened, giving the grace and Arundel's wings to them. A week later, when Cas was fully healed, he went with them to retrieve the wings of the other angels, which Cartwright had sold to various buyers.

Cartwright himself had been interred in a mental hospital, and it didn't look like he was getting out of it this time, now that it seemed he wasn't only obsessive but violent.

Not long after that, Sam found a short news article about an up and coming businessman named Tobias Miller, who had been tragically killed in a car crash, driving late one night in the rain when his Ferrari had skidded off the road into a tree. Neither of the boys had asked Cas about this, but they knew that the date of the accident had coincided with when he had been off with the other angels. In any case, Tobias had paid the price of humanity and the deeds he had done and no one could argue with that.

But the two boys, the old drunk, and their fallen angel were not done by any means. After all, they still had an apocalypse to stop.


End file.
